Burdens and Bonds
by Caraine
Summary: When Elissa was unable to reconcile her conscience with the decision she made and left all she knew behind, it fell to her companions to finish the task she began.  But now the battle is won and the Grey Wardens are intent on having answers. Begins with Dark Ritual. INCOMPLETE - currently in rewrites.
1. Origins: Chapter 1 Prologue

_Hello and welcome to my little tale which has grown into something much larger than I initially intended.  
>This is but a meagre offering at the altar of the mighty Bioware. They own all.<em>

* * *

><p>For. Because.<p>

There seemed little difference between the words and yet, enclosed in that little room of the Guerrin estate in Denerim, it seemed as though her entire life hung upon the meaning of them.

Because. For.

Elissa stared into the fireplace, her eye drawn to the writhing of the flames. Writhing; just as... _No!_

She flinched and started to her feet. Pacing the floor, she counted the slap of her bare feet against the stone. _Eight, nine, ten. _Reaching the wall, she turned and retraced her steps. _Eight, nine, ten_.

The rhythm soothed her. It had been too long since she had slept alone and she was unaccustomed to the silence. _Eight, nine, ten._ It had been months since she had had time to herself. It was good to be alone; to gather her thoughts, to take stock, and to plan.

Plan.

Her treacherous mind seized on the word. Plan; had she planned this? _Eight, nine, ten._ No, she hadn't. Some things simply cannot be planned for. _Eight-nine-ten_. Some decisions require immediate action where there is no time to plan, to consider, to doubt. _Eightnineten._

Elissa stubbed her toe against the hearth and let out a yelp.

Gritting her teeth, she limped back to the bed and sank down. Her toe throbbed but as much as she attempted to focus on the sensation, it could not obscure the word which had haunted her all evening.

For. Because.

Drawing her legs against her chest and resting her chin on her knees, Elissa found her gaze drawn back to the flames, still writhing as before. Writhing; just as... _them_.

The acknowledgement slipped into her mind, too fast to be deflected. She winced, her arms tightening around her legs as she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping against hope that she could block any further stray thoughts. Cocooned in her self-imposed darkness, however, she found that she could only wonder how many paces lay between her and them. More than that, what else lay between them now?

Finding no peace, Elissa reopened her eyes.

His answer had been quick. Some may have said it was too quick. She knew otherwise though; there was no question as to his loyalty. Yes, he trusted her. Yes, she was persuasive. Even so, she knew Alistair had agreed for her sake.

Knowing what would come next—the question had prowled at the edge of her conscious, or conscience, all evening—Elissa forced her attention to focus back onto her injured toe. It still throbbed and there were some drops of blood where she had grazed the skin. Nothing significant, she concluded, but it was often the trivial niggles which proved to be the largest distractions in battle. Perhaps it would be prudent to visit with Wynne and have the graze healed.

An image of the elder mage swam into her head and Elissa swallowed. No; it would take only one steady look and Wynne would have the crux of the matter in an instant. Explanations would be demanded and Elissa would be forced to confront that question which was edging ever closer into the forefront of her mind.

She could hear it now; it had begun as a lingering whisper at the fringes of her thoughts which was slowly but steadily building into an intolerable roar.

With a whimper, Elissa clutched at her head and scrunched her eyes shut. There had been so little time. Morrigan had been waiting for her and had wanted—demanded—an instant answer. The price for survival had not seemed so high. If it meant they could survive...

Alistair had agreed for her. Not for Riordan, not for Ferelden, but for her. She had agreed...

_For him or because of him?_

Her breath caught in her throat as the question crashed through the last of her weakened defences and reverberated throughout her mind, deafening her to all else.

She had acted the part when Riordan had revealed what was required to kill the Archdemon. She had blustered her way through but inwardly she had felt so desperate. After everything, there was still only death. Alistair had once told her that she reminded him of something wonderful amidst all the death and destruction. No longer; she was now a part of it.

Desperate and despairing, she had retreated to her room and that was when Morrigan had made her offer. Even before the Witch had finished her explanation, Elissa had known that she could persuade Alistair. In those brief minutes during which she had considered the arrangement, had she even spared a thought for him? Or had she focused only on the chance to save her own skin; exploiting the one she loved while risking nothing of herself.

Elissa clenched her jaw as she fought against tears. Memories of the nightmares both she and Alistair endured flickered across her eyelids. She recalled the fear of waking up in camp and discovering shrieks attacking them. It was the first time that she had felt hunted.

She had never lost that feeling. Instead, the sense that the darkspawn were forever at her heels had only increased. They seemed to lost ground at every decision and had to fight the odds at every encounter. Nothing halted the march towards the final confrontation.

As she had fought to enforce each Grey Warden treaty, her skills had improved but her spirit had weakened. It was not enough. It would never be enough. The mages, dwarves and elves were all undermined by their own internal power struggles. They had honoured the treaties as best they could but she could not help but see the numbers as pitiful.

The battle was already lost.

A lingering shred of hope had driven her to accept Morrigan's offer but now she was able to properly think, Elissa recognised that defeating the Archdemon was only the very last act of an insurmountable challenge.

Her nails dug into her scalp as a sob finally escaped. She had committed a betrayal to Alistair greater than if she had allowed Loghain to live _for nothing_. She had manipulated him for her own survival; agreed to Morrigan's demands because she knew he would fall in line; grasped at the chance of ending this nightmare without genuine consideration of the consequence. All of which, she knew now, was for nothing. There would be no final blow to take, not for either of them. How could there be?

The squeal of the latch startled her and Elissa leapt to her feet, hastily grabbing at her dagger while she rubbed at the back of her eyes with her free hand. Gulping in a breath, she hoped it would dislodge the lump in her throat.

"Well, tis as you suggested, he is pleasant enough in bed. A pity it does not transfer outside of it," Morrigan remarked with a faint sneer as she entered into the room.

Her only response was the resounding thud of the dagger as the force of Elissa's throw embedded it into the solid wooden door behind Morrigan. The young Warden had the satisfaction of seeing a glimpse of surprise before Morrigan's face darkened.

Both women tensed, mirroring one another as they waited the other out. With a rush of clarity, Elissa realised that the only guarantee of the ritual was Morrigan's word. Aside from the futility of the agreement which now worried at her resolution, she had betrayed Alistair for the word of an apostate. The fact that Morrigan had once called her sister did nothing to ease the sense that she had been fooled. She knew Morrigan would not betray her on purpose but she also knew that the Witch was conditioned not to overlook an opportunity to gain an advantage. It was unfortunate, then, that Elissa could no longer see the advantage.

The blind fury with which she had responded to Morrigan's baiting dissipated. Her guilt had manifested itself in the reaction, nothing more. It left her with the knowledge that she was a traitor and a coward; a Cousland who could no longer face her duty.

Turning away, Elissa stared back at the fire. "It's done, then?"

"Yes."

"You'd best go rest. There will be much to do tomorrow, I imagine." She kept her back to the Witch and the thought occurred to her that this was probably the greatest test of loyalty she had offered to Morrigan; a dagger and an unshielded back.

"Elissa." The Witch spoke her name softly—lovingly, even. "The decision has been made and the act done. Do not think anymore on it."

The compassion in Morrigan's voice was more startling than the surprise which had flown across her face only minutes before. Elissa bit down hard on her lip as she struggled to maintain her facade but when she was at last able to glance over her shoulder, all that remained was the dagger embedded in the door.


	2. Origins: Chapter 2

Alistair sat hunched over the large wooden table with his forehead resting on his crossed arms. A plate of food which had only been picked at was pushed to just beyond his reach. He was dozing but the sounds of the waking castle prevented him from falling asleep. It wasn't even dawn and yet preparations for the final battle had resumed.

He wondered where Elissa was. She had not sought him out since presenting him with Morrigan's proposal. He had searched for her afterwards but her room had been empty and she had left no trace as to where she might be. That in itself was a worrying sign.

Alistair had sensed the change in her. The tone of her voice, the way she held herself, the look in her eye; none of that had altered. But something had shattered. Deep inside. She had come to him with Morrigan's proposal less than a half hour after Riordan's revelation. Her look, her voice, her smile; none of it suggested that anything was wrong. But he had felt that his Elissa was struggling.

So he had agreed to the ritual with minimal argument. Not because he actually trusted that Elissa thought it was the right thing to do; it was clear she didn't even trust herself. And neither was it because she was especially persuasive; he was too familiar with her silver tongue for it to have much effect anymore. It was far more simple than that. He had no particular wish to die.

There had been a time when he would have reacted in a different manner. Accused her of betraying the Grey Wardens. Scorned her cowardice towards fulfilling her duty. Threatened to denounce her if she persisted. But things had changed. Nothing was so black and white anymore. She had proven herself beyond doubt and if that meant that his loyalty to the Grey Wardens was no longer absolute then so be it. He would not hesitate to fulfil his duty but he no longer had the need to be defined by it.

It was a change that had not met with Morrigan's approval. His bruised body was proof of that. He had not revelled in any of her requests but neither had he protested any of them. It became clear that this was something she had not expected. Her inability to break his spirit had infuriated her and she had become increasingly demanding. He wondered now why she had finally stopped. Perhaps he had exhausted her repertoire.

He gave a snort of laughter. _Andraste's sword, there's a thought._

"Do tell".

Alistair jumped as Leliana sat down on the bench next to him. His body ached with the sudden movement and he let out a groan.

"My, my, don't you look like you have a story," she raised an eyebrow.

He made a pretence of stretching as if he was cramped from sitting in such an awkward position.

"Alistair, surely you are not going to play this game with me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about", he reached over the table and pulled the plate of food back in front of him.

"Oh yes, let's pretend silly Leliana has gotten it wrong again", she giggled and stole a slice of bread from his plate. "You really are shameful".

Alistair could feel the blush creeping up his neck. It shocked him that she should think his relationship with Elissa could ever involve what Morrigan had made him endure.

"Leliana, is this really how you should address your King?"

"Oh come now Alistair," she tousled his hair with her free hand. "So formal. Are we not friends?"

He batted her away, trying not to wince as he did so. "Leliana, really. Some decorum would be appreciated".

"You are a Grey Warden until the Blight is finished" she shrugged, taking a bite of her bread. She paused while she chewed then flashed him a smile. "Then you will be my King".

"Wonderful. With subjects like you, who needs darkspawn?"

Leliana shot him a dirty look. "Is it wise to insult a former assassin?"

"It depends. Has Anora offered you a contract yet?"

She giggled in a manner which did not quite reassure him.

"You wouldn't, would you?"

"Wouldn't what, Alistair?" she widened her eyes in mock bewilderment.

"I knew we should have left you in Lothering," he muttered, manoeuvring his plate out of her reach.

"If I remember correctly, _my liege_," she stressed the two words, "it was you who convinced our Warden to accept my offer of assistance."

"Hmm." He took a bite from his own slice of bread. "Who was I to overrule the Maker?"

Leliana scowled at him in earnest and he had the decency to blush. He knew he had gone too far with his teasing. And regardless of whether she had been sent by the Maker or not, he was glad she was there to share the burden with them.

"Leliana." He reached over to his plate and held out the last chunk of cheese to her as a peace offering. She took it with the smallest of smiles and they sat in companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

Alistair wondered again where Elissa was. He knew that given the choice Leliana would have preferred to spend time with her rather than him. It suddenly struck him how odd it was that Leliana had even found him. He had picked this part of the castle on purpose since childhood experience had taught him that it would be deserted as this time. But there was no reason why Leliana should have known that. If she was with him then it meant she had been looking for Elissa and failed. Something was very wrong.

"You were looking for Elissa, weren't you?"

"Yes but clearly you found her first," she stuck her tongue out at him.

For once he didn't blush. "How long have you been looking for her?"

"I don't know, an hour or so. It's a large castle and I wasn't sure where she would be. I was just wandering around really".

Alistair got to his feet. "We need to find her."

"But why? You must have seen her only a little while ago." Leliana also stood but her confused look showed that it was more as a reflex than anything else.

"No, I haven't. I haven't seen her since last night."

"But..." Leliana frowned as her confusion turned to suspicion. She studied him with an intensity that unnerved him.

"Leliana, it's not what you think. But we need to find her. Now."

The urgency in his voice seem to convince her that this as a discussion better continued at a later date. Amidst his genuine growing concern for Elissa, he offered a small prayer to the Maker that they would find her before Leliana decided to resume the discussion. The thought of explaining why he had spent the night of his engagement being seduced by a woman other than his betrothed did not fill him with joy. Explaining to a particularly talented assassin who was devoted to his said betrothed only added to the unpleasantness. And he outright refused to think how she would react if she ever discovered the other woman was Morrigan.

"I'll fetch the others. We'll meet you in the main hall." The distrust in her eyes remained despite her compliance.

Morrigan appeared at the doorway as if summoned on command by Leliana's departure. She was dishevelled and agitated, embodying what Alistair imagined was the folklore image of a Witch of the Wilds. Her look betrayed what Alistair had already begun to fear. There was only one for whom Morrigan would allow herself to look so concerned for. There was only one who mattered.

"She is gone."


	3. Origins: Chapter 3

The words hung in the air.

_She is gone_.

The panic which had begun to creep into his mind disappeared with Morrigan's words and he was glad for the brief moments of clarity before the feelings of loss would overwhelm him. There was no need for either of them to pretend what Morrigan meant by 'gone'. Elissa had left.

"Where?" Alistair finally spoke.

"I do not know. I ... lost her."

The admission of failure caused him to jerk his head up. "_Lost _her?"

Morrigan scowled at him as she caught the implication in his tone.

"Where was she headed, before you lost her?"

"North".

"The Free Marches." A dull ache washed over him breaking through the numbness. There had been a short-lived moment where he had wondered if her sense of hopelessness had caused her to seek out the Archdemon alone. Idiotic and reckless, at least it would have offered them a chance of catching her. But there had been no indication that the Archdemon lay towards the Marches.

"You must follow her." Morrigan broke into his thoughts.

"Me?"

"I had thought that as her love you would wish to find her!" The disgusted sneer with which Morrigan had addressed him for months reappeared on her face despite herself.

Alistair remained impassive. It was not the suggestion that he go after Elissa which had shocked him. It was the fact that Morrigan had suggested it.

"Why not you?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you follow her?" Alistair studied her as the early dawn light filtered in from the window slits. "Why did you come back?"

"I told you, I lost her!" she spat the words at him but her feigned anger only partially masked the conflict of emotions which flashed across her face.

His gaze flickered over her. At first glance he had taken her dishevelled appearance to be a part of her agitation but with closer inspection he could see that her boots were caked with dirt and her clothes were more tattered than he remembered. Her hair had fallen loose from its fastenings and every so often her hand brushed some of the wayward strands away from her face. But distracted as the movement appeared, she was deliberate in the way in which her finger tips ghosted across her cheek and avoided the reddened skin beneath her left eye. Something clicked in his head. With a familiarity that shocked both of them, Alistair reached out and touched her face. Her skin was cool save for the pocket of heat that was radiating from the delicate patch under her eye. Morrigan snarled at his touch but it did little to disguise her recoil as his thumb grazed against her cheekbone. Her eye socket was broken.

All powerful Morrigan, fabled Witch of the Wilds, had not simply _lost_ her target. Elissa had sent her back.

Alistair let his hand fall back to his side as he moved away from her. It was clear now why Morrigan had come back. He had no doubt that the Witch had only returned to _him_ because of her dark ritual. But it was Elissa who had forced her back.

He sank down on the wooden bench with a stifled groan and let his head sink into his hands. The dull ache which had only washed over him a few minutes ago now seemed to reach out and grasp at his heart. Suddenly he understood.

He had been ready to let Morrigan convince him. Convince him to leave, to abandon the city, to forget his obligations. It was true that he had not been there for Elissa; none of them had. They had all demanded her energy over the months. All had been desperate for someone to defer to; someone with whom they could find a safe haven from each of their pasts. And she had given them what they needed. Each new companion had been welcomed and a place in camp found for them. Every night she had spent time with them. Talking, laughing, bonding.

Gradually she had won each of them over. It would have been a much simpler task to have charmed her way with them as she did the merchants and the guards but she had made a conscious choice not to. Instead she had listened, encouraged and comforted. Little by little she drew out of them all their deepest fears and regrets. And now although she had not been able to confide her own dark doubts, she had sent Morrigan back as a last gift to him. He felt the weight of the burden Elissa had carried for so long settle onto his shoulders. Wherever Elissa was headed, she did not plan on returning. It was now his duty, along with Riordan, to overcome the Archdemon.

_She had known._

The thought comforted him. Even in her darkest moments, Elissa had shown she understood him better than he did himself. All that prevented him from following her was his duty. Duty as a Grey Warden and duty as King. But she had known that he would not turn away from that duty so long as he was reminded of it. Even as she had sent Morrigan back; even before the choice was offered to him; she had known what he would choose. What he _had _to choose. But it did not make the feeling of betrayal any easier to bear.

_His or hers._

Alistair hoped that, somewhere amid the hopelessness and dread, she had also known that he forgave her.

He lifted his head from his hands and forced himself to stand. As he turned to face Morrigan, the words he knew he had to say caused a bitter taste in his mouth.

"My place is here. I won't go."


	4. Origins: Chapter 4

Alistair wasn't sure what was more surprising. The fact that Morrigan had hit him with an arcane bolt or the fact that he was surprisedthat Morrigan had hit him with an arcane bolt.

She had not reacted well to his decision. As soon as the words had left his mouth, she had struck out at him with the spell. She had caught him off guard but as Alistair tried to relax his body so that the magic would disperse more quickly, he was well aware that she had both the capability and the inclination to do much worse. Morrigan was angry at him but she wasn't shocked. She understood the significance of being sent back as much as he did.

Morrigan held up a hand and muttered something under her breath. Alistair felt the damaging force being drawn out of his body as she countered the spell with a basic healing one.

"I'll thank you not to do that again," he rolled his shoulders back and stretched as he tried to loosen the tension which now tightened his muscles. But the movement did nothing to dislodge the crushing realisation of what now lay ahead of him.

"We shall see." There was the faintest hint of a smirk on Morrigan's face despite the circumstances.

Embracing the expectations of his new role as King, Alistair took the diplomatic option and ignored her. There were more pressing matters. The manner in which he had sent Leliana to gather the rest of the group meant that he was certain that they were already waiting for him in the main hall.

"Morrigan, do not speak a word of this. No one must know that Elissa is gone. It would cause panic."

The Witch scowled but nodded. Despite her inexhaustible number of flaws, Morrigan was practical. There was nothing to be gained from revealing such information but so much to lose.

"Come on, the others will come looking for us otherwise."

Alistair hustled Morrigan out of the room in the hopes that his assertive action would hide the fact that inwardly he was at a loss. He felt the panic begin to rise up again and he gripped at Morrigan's elbow as he steered her through the various passages towards the main hall. He wished he had some idea of how to explain Elissa's absence to the rest. All he was certain of was that they must not know.

As they walked through the castle, he noticed that the sounds of life which had prevented him from falling asleep earlier had increased. There seemed to be far too much bustle even accounting for the final preparations. Something had happened in the last few hours that he was unaware of.

The guards at the hall doors stood to attention as Alistair rounded the final corner. He felt a blush creep up his neck. His sense of duty may have prevented him from racing after Elissa but it didn't make accepting shows of servitude any easier. Alistair gave what he hoped looked like a regal nod of recognition as they passed by the guards and into the hall.

As he had expected, all heads turned towards him as he entered. But he was surprised to see Riordan amongst them. Morrigan wrenched her elbow from his grasp and slinked away, settling herself on a bench behind the group. She was near enough to hear what was said but deliberately far enough away to be ignored by the others.

"It is true then." Riordan shook his head with a sigh.

"What is true?"

"Leliana said you were concerned about Elissa. I see that you have not found her and no one here has seen her either."

"Right..."

"She has already left, hasn't she?"

The matter-of-fact way in which Riordan asked the question took Alistair aback. He glanced round at the rest of the group but Riordan's statement had not caused the reaction he was expecting. There was a universal look of worry and concern but not the dread he had imagined Elissa's departure would have initiated. Through the gaps in the group, his gaze settled on Morrigan. Unspoken messages flitted between them which Leliana did not fail to miss.

"I don't understand," Alistair admitted finally, turning back to Riordan.

"She has left for Redcliffe."

"What?"

"Arl Eamon's scouts have returned with news that the darkspawn are massing near Redcliffe. The Archdemon must be near there. Elissa intercepted the information somehow."

"Wait. The Archdemon plans to attack Redcliffe and you think Elissa has gone charging after it alone?" Alistair's incredulous tone caused Riordan to frown at him.

"Where else would she be?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair could see Morrigan mouthing something to herself under her breath. He had a premonition that if he did not get his act together then she was going to showcase a much more impressive demonstration of her capabilities than she had earlier.

"No ... yes... of course. What I mean is, uh, the Archdemon. Why... why Redcliffe?"

The frown cleared from Riordan's face as he shrugged. "With the Landsmeet, all available forces were summoned by their Arls to Denerim. The rest of the country has been left vulnerable."

"But Redcliffe is four days march and most of our soldiers are poorly equipped. How will we reach it in time?"

"That is why we must leave immediately. You should select some of your companions to accompany us. The rest can march with the army."

"Right..."

"I will request each Arl to send five of his best horsemen." Riordan leaned forward and Alistair realised with horror that the Senior Grey Warden intended it as a bow. "Pick your companions and let us go quickly, your Majesty. Elissa will need our assistance."

Riordan left the hall and Alistair was faced with addressing the rest of them. There was an expectant silence as each awaited his orders. The weight of responsibility was beginning to suffocate him.

_How did she do this?_

Alistair pushed the thought away with a flash of anger. It no longer mattered how Elissa had coped, only that he must learn to.

With a forcefulness he had not expected to hear in his voice, he issued his orders. "Those who can ride are with me. Sten, Oghren and Shale, you will march with the army. They will be grateful for your experience."

There were obedient nods throughout the group with one red-headed exception.

"Go and make the necessary preparations. Be ready to leave shortly."

Alistair turned and walked away. Leliana would have to wait.


	5. Origins: Chapter 5

_It was time._

Alistair walked through the courtyard which was now bustling with horses and men. Equipped as best they could be with such short notice, all were making final adjustments before the journey. He spotted some of his companions dotted about making their own preparations. Morrigan was especially obvious as she sat on the stone steps leading to the main doors of the castle, watching events with some sadistic amusement. She had tidied her hair and the skin around her eye was smooth and pale. She must have consented to Wynne healing it. He wondered what Wynne had made of that request.

There was one missing however.

Alistair bypassed the remainder of the courtyard and ducked through the outer buildings towards the stables. The area was deserted since the men were now almost ready to leave. As he approached he spied Leliana in one of the stalls, saddling her horse. He came to a halt in the doorway of one of the outbuildings.

_It was time to talk_.

He had expected her to follow and confront him earlier. He had walked back to his room from the hall with the anticipation that at any moment she would accost him and demand an explanation. But she had not appeared. Time wore on while he completed his own preparations and he began to understand that she was not going to come. The growing suspicion which had followed that realisation was now corroborated by the saddle bags that were on her horse. In themselves, their presence was not strange but the fact that he could see they contained more than the necessary health potions and weapons was.

He strode out from the doorway and into the stable stall. "Leliana."

She didn't acknowledge him and he realised that her rogues ability had already sensed his presence.

Alistair moved closer and touched her shoulder. She flinched and stepped away from him, refusing to look at him. The horse seemed to sense the tension between the two and turned her head with a soft whinny. Alistair reached out and stroked the horse's neck, murmuring nonsense words in an effort to reassure it. The horse eyed him then nuzzled at him with her nose, sniffing to see if he had anything better than words to offer. Realising he had come without any treats, the horse snorted and turned back to her hay bale.

Leliana had continued to check the tack on the horse although he noticed that she had now firmly pulled the flaps of the saddle bags closed. The silence was oppressive.

He couldn't bear it any longer. "So when did you intend on telling me you were leaving?"

"At the same time you planned on telling me she had left."

The silence returned as each considered the other's words.

"When did you guess?"

Leliana tutted with irritation. "Alistair, you may be expected to take your position as King once the Blight is over but you have yet to master a talent for politics."

"And what does that mean?"

"You can't lie for shit."

The bluntness of the statement coupled with Leliana's lilting Orlesian delivery made him snigger. She glowered at him as she tightened the saddle strap.

"Are we not friends?" he echoed the question she had teased him with only hours before in the hope it would encourage a greater response.

"I do not abandon my friends." Her tone was cold.

Alistair stood and stared at the horse as she chewed on the bale. Then, "It was not me who left."

The pain with which he had spoken the words finally caused Leliana to stop what she was doing and turn towards him. His hand remained on the horse's neck but he had stopped his stroking and it was clear he was no longer aware of his surroundings. She had been so blinded by mistrust and anger that she had not stopped to see past the fragile mental defences that Alistair had so hurriedly built. Now looking at him, she recognised the hunted look that had crept onto Elissa's face as the weeks and months had worn on. He was already feeling the strain of her absence. But there was more than that. Grief. Loss. With a jolt Leliana realised that Alistair did not expect to see Elissa again.

She reached out and pulled him into a fierce hold. His arms snaked around her waist as he buried his face in her shoulder. They held onto one another as a shared understanding finally arrived between them.

"Take Zevran."

"What?" Leliana released her hold slightly so that his words were not muffled in her shoulder.

"And the Mabari. It's in the kennels. It hasn't realised she has left yet but I don't want to be around when he does. As long as you explain to him where you're going then he'll be of use to you."

Comprehension dawned on her. "You never intended on stopping me."

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "Would I have stood a chance?"

Leliana stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He gave a start and she smiled to see his familiar boyish blush spread across his face. So much had changed since she had first met him but that had remained constant.

"I will find her."

The hint of a smile vanished and the blush paled away as he disentangled himself from her arms. She had meant the words as a comfort but it seemed to have caused him only more pain. With a stab of regret she watched as Alistair withdrew back into himself. The grief he did not have the luxury to indulge was once again hidden away. She had spoken the truth when she had said that he was yet to discover a talent for politics but it seemed that he was already well-aware of the solitary burden of leadership. She hoped that he would find his own way to survive before the weight of it crushed him.

"I will tell Zevran to fetch the Mabari and meet you here." He looked at her with a impassivity that belied the comfort they had just taken from one another. "Maker watch over you."

Leliana caught his hand as he turned to leave. She wanted so desperately to rid his face of the blank expression but there was nothing she could offer except empty promises. She dropped his hand and gently tousled his hair one last time as she spoke the only words she could think of.

"Maker watch over us all; my friend."


	6. Origins: Chapter 6

The sun was sinking towards the horizon as Elissa guided her horse through the rocky terrain which covered the hills overlooking Denerim. Once she passed through the hills then the land would drop towards the Waking Sea. She wasn't sure where she would go from there. Kirkwall, Starkhaven, Tantervale. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was that she was far from any reminders. Reminders of where she had come from, who she had been...

_And who she had left behind_.

Elissa no longer had the energy to push the thoughts away. She had hoped that escaping from the threat of the Archdemon would have freed her from the despair that had begun to consume her mind. But she couldn't escape the knowledge that her leaving only left others to die in her stead.

She hoped that one particular death would be avoided though. The confrontation with Morrigan had been unpleasant. Elissa had no idea how the Witch had known. She had been careful to leave the city without being noticed, wrapped in a cloak and leading the horse by the reins. She had looked like any of the other hundreds of refugees that now came and went each day. Yet once she was away from the city gates and made to mount, Morrigan had stepped out of the shadows behind her.

Elissa blinked back the tears as she relaxed the reins so the horse could pick its own way across the rocky ground.

The pity with which Morrigan had looked at her made Elissa flinch even now. The Witch hadn't said anything but she didn't have to. Elissa knew she was a coward. When Morrigan had made to step towards her... Almost a year on the road had taught Elissa to react first and ask later. She had snatched at her dagger and lashed out with the butt of the handle.

_Thank the Maker_.

She swallowed. The thought of how she may have injured Morrigan with the blade didn't bear thinking about. As it was Elissa had felt the socket break under the force. She had frozen as Morrigan staggered back with a yelp of pain. It must have been agony but she hadn't retaliated. Spurred on by her reaction, Elissa had used the last of her mental strength to order Morrigan back. She had betrayed Alistair by agreeing to the ritual. It was only fitting that he at least benefit in some small way from it.

The thought of Alistair caused her to glance over her shoulder. Denerim lay behind her. It was beginning to blur into one grey mass as she travelled further from it. Once she had sent Morrigan back, she had pushed the horse hard. She hadn't known what Morrigan would do when she returned to Arl Eamon's estate and she hadn't been entirely convinced that Alistair's sense of obligation would overrule his heart.

She had felt a stab of panic earlier in the day. A cloud of dust had appeared near what she knew were the city gates a few hours after dawn had broken. With a squint, she had been able to make out the cause as a group of horsemen but her alarm had passed as she realised they were headed away from her and towards the West Road. For so long she had been the driving force behind so much of what occurred in Ferelden. It was strange to know that something was happening and she had no part in it. But it was unlikely anyone was following her now and by dawn she would be beyond chasing.

Elissa felt the prickling of the taint just as the horse shied. She felt a burning pain in her shoulder and even before she looked down, she knew it was an arrow. Darkspawn archer. Lost in thought, she had ignored the warning of the taint and now there were three gunlocks advancing on her.

She clenched her teeth and grabbed at the reins, trying to ignore the pain which seared through her shoulder. She kicked at the horse with her heels and forced it into a gallop towards the darkspawn. With her good arm, she reached behind and pulled her main sword from the sheath on her back. As the horse charged past the trio, she hacked at the genlock on her right. Crude but effective, she was relieved to feel the crunch of metal against bone as she sliced through its neck. She pulled at the horse's head with the reins, crying out at the throbbing in her shoulder, and forced the animal forward again.

The archer had retreated further down the hill and was taking aim at her. Elissa leaned closer into the neck of the horse and lunged at the second genlock as they bolted past. She managed to sink her blade into its chest but the blade stuck. The force of the blade being ripped from her hand caused her to topple from the saddle and she crashed onto the ground. Winded, she lay where she had fallen. The second genlock was grunting somewhere behind her. It sounded badly wounded but not dead.

Elissa lay still and held her breath as the shadow of the third genlock fell across her face. Her off-hand dagger was still in its sheath on her back but the only advantage she had was surprise. She heard the string of the bow tighten as the archer took aim. With a sudden jerk, she rolled forward and let out a howl of pain as her shoulder dug into the ground. Fumbling behind her, she managed to grab the dagger and lunged forward in the hopes it would find its mark. The genlock jumped back and she missed it but now on her feet, she pressed forward and sank the blade into its throat as it fumbled for its bow. Wrenching the blade back out, she staggered back and turned to the wounded genlock behind her. One quick movement and its throat was slashed as well.

Panting and almost passing out from the pain, Elissa staggered away from the corpses towards a small rocky outcrop. It offered little protection but it was better than sitting out amongst three dead darkspawn. The horse had fled as soon as she had fallen. She sank down against the rocks and gave a smothered shriek as her shoulder jarred. Her vision blurred and she had to fight the urge to vomit. Spoiled by Wynne's skill and constant vigilance, she no longer had the stamina to push through such pain.

Elissa glanced down at her shoulder. She was bruised and bloodied all over but it was her shoulder that was the main problem. The arrow had snapped when she had fallen to the ground but the head was still embedded in her flesh. The tip would be poisoned but she almost passed out at the thought of pulling it out. Elissa forced herself to take a deep breath and even thought the movement sent another searing bolt of pain through her body, the tightness in her chest eased and her vision cleared. With her good arm, she reached up and made to grip the aroow tip between her fingers but it was no use. Any contact with it made her want to faint. With a groan, she slumped back against the rock and closed her eyes.

It made no sense that there were darkspawn to the North. There was nothing here. What was even more odd was that there had been an archer. Archers were usually assigned to scouting groups. But there was no reason for darkspawn to be scouting near the Coastlands.

Elissa's head began to feel heavy as she tried to reason. She tried to concentrate and let the fuzzy thoughts in her mind float to the surface but the poison was beginning to spread.

_Scouts_.

The blackness crept further into her head.

_Why were scouts important?_

It was getting more and more difficult to remember what she was supposed to be thinking.

_Wh... what did scouts... mean?_

The last few moments between consciousness and darkness provided an instant of clarity.

_Scouts. From the Horde._

Frightened and alone, Elissa let out a whimper before everything went black.


	7. Origins: Chapter 7

The small group of thirty odd riders huddled around the camp fire as their horses grazed at what little grass remained on the blighted land. They were still more than a day's ride from Redcliffe and Alistair had been keen to press on but the horses were spent and Riordan had persuaded him to call a halt to allow the animals a brief time to rest.

Alistair sat a little way apart from the others. It had been a welcome diversion being on the road. The constant movement and shared sense of purpose had helped to maintain his focus on the task at hand. But now the change in pace gave him more time to think. Alistair pushed away the thoughts of _her _which tried to rush into his head.

_Not now_.

The pain was there. A constant ache. But its continuous presence prevented him from becoming overwhelmed by the near impossibility of the task which lay ahead. The pain provided a reason to accept either outcome; in death he would not have to confront the reality of his future without Elissa. Although Morrigan's ritual would guard against the sacrifice required for killing the Archdemon, there was no guarantee that either he or Riordan would even reach the creature. But at the same time, the pain would ensure that even if he survived then he would never be able to forget how he felt for her. Either way, there was nothing more to be done about it until after the battle.

Wynne approached him, a lump of bread offered in her outstretched hand as means of a question. Alistair accepted it with a smile and she took it as an invitation to join him. They sat in silence as the sounds of the men talking amongst one another drifted over to them.

"He makes it look so effortless." Alistair spoke at last.

His gaze rested on Riordan as the elder Warden moved between the men, sharing a word or two with each as he did so. Each of these men were experienced soldiers, handpicked by their Arls to accompany their soon-to-be King to defend against a legendary Archdemon. It was doubtful if any of them were unaware of where their death now lay. And yet none had wavered. Alistair wondered if he would ever be capable of rallying the men in the same way.

Wynne smiled and patted his knee. "As will you, with practice."

He shook his head. He had been too much in awe of Duncan to take notice of how he had managed the Wardens. And his attention had been otherwise occupied with regards to how Elissa had approached the task. Now he was left to work it out alone.

"It will not be as difficult as you think," Wynne continued. "It is true they trust Riordan but it is only because they see that you trust him. They look to you for guidance."

Alistair let out a deep breath. As much as he wanted to be a good King, he wasn't sure what guidance he could offer.

"That you are here with them is enough." Wynne seemed to read his thoughts.

For the second time, the words came to him but this time they were easier to say. "My place is here."

"Yes, it is. And I thank you for realising it."

Alistair was quiet as he absorbed the hidden meaning in the intonation of her words. He recalled Leliana's comment about his inability to lie. It seemed that none of the members of their small party had been fooled.

They feel into silence once more but it felt more strained than the companionable one they had shared only minutes before.

"I depended on her," Alistair finally spoke in a manner similar to a confession. "Too much."

"Yes."

The bluntness of the answer smarted and Alistair's relaxed posture stiffened despite himself. There was a stir among the men as they responded to the change in manner between the pair. It seemed Wynne had been correct when she suggested that they took their lead from him. The mage stood and made a pretence of smoothing her robes and the unease that had crept into the group of men dissipated as it became clear that there was no real cause for concern.

As she straightened, Wynne caught his gaze. Alistair liked and respected the elder mage but he sensed from her expression that he was not about to appreciate her next statement.

"Elissa is your weakness. You are stronger for being apart from her."

Wynne turned and walked away and he was left to contemplate her words. The thought had never crossed his mind and Wynne's matter of fact tone only seemed to add to the sense of disloyalty that such a statement seemed to hold.

"Tis true."

Alistair had known that Morrigan was nearby although he had not realised that she had been listening. She had not spoken to him since the morning but throughout the journey she had never strayed too far from him. Never acknowledging him but always there, he had begun to wonder whether she considered herself as his guard or his jailor.

The Witch moved out of the shadows that lay behind and stood next to him. The bitterness he was not able to level at Wynne, he now directed at her.

"You're a _bitch_."

Morrigan made an impatient sound. "I do not say it to torment you Alistair. The pity is that the thought of tormenting you no longer gives me much pleasure."

He was prevented from responding by the arrival of Riordan. Finished with speaking to the men, he was now intent on speaking with Alistair. Morrigan retreated back into the shadows and Alistair was left to try and cool the surge of temper which threatened to overspill from him.

"Alistair, may we speak?" Riordan addressed him with a respectful nod.

"Yes, of course." Alistair got to his feet in the hopes that the movement would give him a few seconds to collect himself.

"The call of the taint. What do you feel?"

Alistair frowned. "I can sense darkspawn but that's no surprise."

"What else?"

"What else should there be?"

Riordan shook his head. "It's not strong enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Even without being directly in Redcliffe, the taint should feel overwhelming if the Archdemon is near."

"Are you suggesting it's not here?"

The elder Warden shook his head as he looked out towards the darkness beyond the fire. "I don't know. But something is not right."

"We need to reach Redcliffe."

Riordan gave a slow nod. "Yes. But come, you need rest as much as the others. We will leave in a few hours."

As the two men returned to the protection of the group, a cloud drifted in front of the moon. Only the flickering light of the camp fire stood out in the darkness which followed.


	8. Origins: Chapter 8

As the cloud drifted in front of the moon, only the flickering of the torches in the darkspawn's hands stood out in the darkness that followed. The Mabari gave a low growl and crouched closer to the ground with his teeth bared. Leliana reached out from where she was lying flat and laid a hand on the dog's neck, willing through her fingers that he be quiet. The animal turned his head and pushed at her hand with his nose. He seemed confused by her behaviour.

The patrol of henlocks marched past without stopping. After a few minutes it became clear that the trio had not been detected.

"It seems strange to be hiding from darkspawn rather than kicking their asses, no?" Zevran's long exhale of breath contradicted the flippant remark. It was the third group of darkspawn they had avoided in just the last hour.

Leliana didn't respond as she got to her feet and stretched, trying to regain some of the warmth that the damp ground had absorbed from her body. Without either moonlight or firelight, the soft glow of the lights from Denerim behind them were the only point of reference. They had been travelling for hours now and yet made very little progress. She hadn't expected to find darkspawn this far from Redcliffe and initially they had fought any they had come across. A lone genlock here. A handful of hurlocks there. But the groups had become more frequent and in larger numbers. Eventually Leliana and Zevran had been forced to take as much as they could carry from the saddle packs and set the horses free. It was easier to dodge darkspawn on foot rather than attempt to disguise both horse and rider in the rocky foothills.

The Mabari whined at her side and she stroked the top of his head without glancing down.

"Leliana." Zevran stepped next to her so that they were standing shoulder to shoulder, looking down on Denerim. "It it doubtful that even our fearsome Warden could have made it past this number of darkspawn on her own."

"She must have." The Bard shook her head without taking her gaze away from the city. "Why else would there be darkspawn here if not because they sensed a Warden?"

"Which only makes my point more likely."

As the contrast between Leliana's unwavering faith and Zevran's steadfast pragmatism began to clash, the Mabari lifted his nose into the air and started sniffing. He tensed and both Leliana and Zevran reached for their weapons but the dog only let out a whine and trotted away from them into the blackness of the night. Zevran cursed under his breath and let out a low whistle. The Mabari responded with a loud bark.

Fumbling about in the gloom, the pair stumbled in the direction the bark had come from. As they neared whatever the dog had found, he bounced towards them with tongue lolling out before disappearing back into the shadows. The cloud which had obscured the moon drifted onwards and in the emerging moonlight the silhouette of a dead tree with its rotting branches stretching up towards the sky became clearer. The Mabari was pacing up and down beside it, whining and growling as he went as if he couldn't make up his mind how to judge what he had found.

"Hush," Zevran hissed at the dog. "Do you intend on alerting every darkspawn in the area that we are here?"

"Zevran, look!" Leliana broke stride from the elf as she made out the additional silhouette next to the tree.

It was a horse. Trembling and with the whites of its eyes showing, it pawed at the ground with its front hooves. As the Mabari patrolled near it, the horse flared its nostrils and snorted. With ears laid flat against its neck, it jerked its head and tugged at the reins which had become caught around the leafless branches.

Leliana shooed the Mabari away while Zevran caught hold of the bridle and began murmuring to the creature in Antivan. It took a few moments but the horse calmed itself enough to allow Leliana to approach the saddle bags still attached to it without fear of being kicked.

She made a nauseated noise as she touched the flap of one of the bags. It was soaked in something. Dark, sticky, fouling smelling; darkspawn blood. She cast a look at Zevran who gestured towards the speckled spots along the neck of the horse and across its shoulders. More darkspawn blood.

Leliana forced herself to rummage through the saddle bags and didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed with what she found. "Some food and health poultices."

"It hasn't been here long. If _he_," Zevran jerked his head at the Mabari who was now sat watching them from a little distance, "could scent it then so could darkspawn."

Leliana rested her hand on the horse's neck, careful to avoid any of the splatters but keen to touch the only link she had to what she hoped was Elissa. She glanced back at the Mabari. "Maybe he knows."

"Leliana..." Zevran guessed what she was implying. "You understand that finding a horse who has clearly bolted is not a positive sign, yes?"

"Is this Elissa's horse?" she ignored Zevran and addressed the dog.

The Mabari gave a bark and wagged his tail.

"See?"

Zevran shook his head with a scowl. "The horse will have bolted towards home. If it is here then Elissa is even further ahead of us."

Despite his growing irritation, the elf didn't have the heart to voice what he was sure Leliana already knew. With the number of patrols they had passed, it was almost impossible to think that none had sensed the taint within Elissa and hunted her down. And the lack of concern showed by the patrols suggested an absence of any Warden let alone their particular one.

Leliana continued to touch the horse, identifying with the tension which still filled its body. Even so many hours later, the closed expression with which Alistair had looked at her was still fresh in her mind. Grief-stricken at the loss of his mentor yet intent on honouring Duncan's name with a clumsy eagerness, Leliana had never expected to see such a look on the young and inexperienced Templar she had met in Lothering. It haunted her in a way she hadn't expected.

Maker knew she could never hate Elissa. But in that fleeting moment in the stables, Leliana had come as close as she could to that feeling. Her own experiences in Orlais meant that she understood the significance of what they had found as well as Zevran. But she was no longer chasing the young Warden for Elissa's own sake.

"I said I would find her."

Zevran's tone was gentle but the words were blunt. "You may not like what you find."

"But I will have found her."

Zevran untangled the reins from the branches and slipped them back over the horse's neck with a sigh. "Very well. But since we are intent on heading into almost certain death, may we allow ourselves to do so at a gallop?"

Leliana's reply was simple but heartfelt. "Thank you."


	9. Origins: Chapter 9

_Blessed Maker, it's __grinning_.

The Ogre paused at the gates to the Castle, surveying the surrounding of the courtyard. Alistair took a step back and tried to regain some of his breath.

The call of the taint had become stronger as they had neared Redcliffe. But as they charged up the last slope towards Redcliffe, it became clear that it was only the sheer number of darkspawn who were laying siege to the village which was amplifying the call. The Archdemon was not at Redcliffe. Unable to leave the village to the mercy of the darkspawn, Alistair had ordered his horsemen to stay and defend the village while he and the remaining three had pressed onwards to the Castle in search of answers. But now after battling two Emissaries as well as a selection of hurlocks, genlocks and animated dead archers, the arrival of an Alpha Ogre did not seem the welcome alternative to the Archdemon that it should have been.

The Ogre fixed its gaze on Alistair, the taint acting as a beacon between them.

_Definitely grinning_.

The creature lurched towards him, quickening its pace and with a hand outstretched to grab at him. Alistair ducked as he deflected the blow with his shield and let his sword follow the momentum of his movement. The blade drew blood and the Ogre grunted, pausing to glance at the minor wound. The brief hesitation was enough to allow Alistair to manoeuvre himself out of reach and he began to circle it, looking for the advantage. Riordan recognised his tactics and mirrored his movements so that both warriors were pacing round it, diverting attention from the two mages.

Alistair could feel the warming sense of Wynne's protection spells around him as a flash of light hurtled past him. The Ogre stopped mid-movement as it became caught in Morrigan's freeze hold. Working as one, both he and Riordan hacked at the exposed flesh between the ill-fitting armour. They had to try to cripple its health before either could risk landing a killing blow.

Morrigan's spell faded and the Ogre let out a roar of pain as sensation returned to its limbs. It raised its clenched fists and both he and Riordan braced themselves for the tremor that was to come. Glancing round, Alistair saw that Wynne had followed their lead and had propped herself against a wall but Morrigan was lost in concentration, hands outstretched while she attempt to cast one of her most powerful spells. He made to shout a warning to her but it was drowned out by the slam of the Ogre's fists hitting the ground. Morrigan let out a curse as she toppled to the ground, spell disrupted. The Ogre whirled round, attracted by the unexpected noise. It loped towards her, grin reappearing on its face and caught her up in its grip.

Alistair felt Wynne's magic ebb out of him and he knew she was casting protection spells onto Morrigan instead. He could see the Ogre's fist tightening.

_No!_

Panic made him reckless. Without waiting for Riordan, he charged at the creature and drove his sword deep into the back of its thigh. The Ogre howled and his grasp on Morrigan loosened. It swung round to confront Alistair and the movement caused Morrigan to slither out of its hold. She fell to the ground in a crumpled heap and did not move.

Alistair staggered back. His sword was still embedded in the Ogre's thigh and all he had was his shield to protect him. Enraged, the Ogre drew its fist back again to deliver a final blow. As it did so, Riordan saw his opportunity and launched into a run. He leapt at the creature and sunk his blade deep into its now exposed chest. Wrenching it back out, the Warden struck again but this time in its throat. The bellow of pain and surprise became a disgusting gurgle as blood filled its airways and the Ogre staggered backwards. With a deftness borne from many battles, Riordan pushed off from the creature and landed lightly on his feet as it crashed to the ground.

The immediate threat dealt with, Wynne pushed past Alistair and rushed to Morrigan. She was still, sprawled where she had fell with limbs at crooked angles. The older mage crouched next to her and her hands raced over the Witch's prostrate form as she murmured various healing spells. As Alistair watched from a little way off, Wynne hesitated and the sound of her enchantments trailed off for a brief moment.

_Maker save her_. Alistair offered the prayer as Wynne resumed her healing with redoubled efforts.

"Does she live?" Riordan joined him. The older Warden was soaked in foul blood but otherwise unharmed from the battle.

Morrigan gave a weak groan and Alistair allowed himself to let out the breath he had been holding. It seemed that the Maker did watch over all his children, wicked Witches of the Wilds or no.

"She will." Wynne answered the question over her shoulder as she eased Morrigan into a more comfortable position.

Disorientated, Morrigan made a half-hearted attempt to push Wynne away. "Tis a scratch."

"There is more here than a scratch." Wynne brushed aside her protestation.

A look passed between the women and a dark shadow passed across Morrigan's face. Alistair opened his mouth to intervene in the argument that appeared to be brewing between the two mages but Riordan nudged him with a small shake of the head.

"There are some battles even a Grey Warden King cannot win," he murmured and turned towards the stairs leading to the main doors of Redcliffe Castle. He gestured for Alistair to follow him.

Alistair glanced back at the two women but it seemed the moment had passed. Morrigan lay silent and submissive as Wynne continued with her healing. He sheathed his shield on his back and jogged to catch up with Riordan.

"What did you mean?"

Riordan chuckled as they began to walk up the stairs. "You are too young, my friend."

"Too young for what?" Alistair grinned despite himself. Riordan's reaction reminded him of the brief time he had spent with the other Wardens at Ostagar. With the events of the last few days in particular, the sense of camaraderie was a welcome recollection.

"To understand that you will never win an argument with a woman." The amusement on Riordan's face faded. "I only hope that my sacrifice may ensure that you live to learn that lesson for yourself."

The all too brief memory of a happier past was blotted out and Alistair's attention was forced back to the task in hand. Past and future were irrelevant at this point. All that mattered was overcoming the Blight. He would worry about facing the future, and any necessary lessons, at another time.

As they reached the top of the staircase, a guard rushed from the main door to greet them. He saluted both men but addressed Alistair.

"A welcome sight, your Majesty. Bann Teagan is in the hall and is eager to speak with you."

"Is the Castle secure?" The authority with which Alistair now spoke only served to emphasise how far removed he had become from the young Warden recruit Riordan's teasing had temporarily reinstated.

"Yes, we were able to keep the darkspawn out."

"Then send any available guards to the village and support my men there."

"Reinforcements have already been sent via the tunnel in the dungeon but from what we can see from the battlements, the village is saved."

"Good." Alistair motioned behind towards the courtyard. "Will you see whether my companions need any assistance? I can find Teagan myself."

The guard saluted and moved past the two Wardens and down the staircase. Alistair led Riordan through the main door and towards the hall. As they entered, Teagan turned and both he and the guard captain to whom he was issuing orders bowed.

"Welcome, Your Majesty. Once again, Redcliffe is in your debt."

Alistair felt a flush of discomfort and he signalled for both to straighten. He could tolerate strangers addressing him with the title even though it was not officially his for the moment but it was too strange for Teagan to do so. "I'm not King yet."

Teagan gave a curt nod to the guard captain as means of dismissal. Once the man had left, he allowed a grin to surface. "Warden or King, I am glad to see you here Alistair."

"What of Elissa?" Riordan interrupted.

Teagan frowned. "The Warden is not here."

"Is she in the village?"

"Not that I know of and she has a way of making her presence known."

Alistair made his way to the fireplace and made a pretence of warming himself. Back turned to the two men, Teagan in particular, he summoned what little cunning he had. "If the Archdemon is not here then it makes sense that neither is she."

"Is that why you returned to Redcliffe, for the Archdemon?"

"Yes. Arl Eamon's scouts reported that it was attacking here." Riordan answered.

"No, there has been no sign of it. But there are rumours that it lies near Denerim."

Alistair spun round from the fire. "How could you know that?"

Teagan shrugged. "Rumour moves faster than men. I had heard rumours that you were headed to Redcliffe before you arrived."

"Then we must return to Denerim." Riordan was stoical.

Alistair didn't argue but nothing could obscure the fact that they had given the Archdemon an opportunity they could sorely afford to offer it. "We need to turn the army back somehow."

"Unfortunately rumour will not turn an army back and there is nothing else which could convey the message faster," Teagan shook his head.

"Morrigan."

Both Teagan and Riordan stared at Alistair.

"She's a shape shifter. She may be able to reach the army more quickly in another form. Oghren would make sure the message was listened to if she delivered it." Alistair hesitated. "But we must allow her a few hours to recover."

Teagan gestured at a servant who was hovering near the doorway. "Then allow us to offer our hospitality in the meantime. The rumours do not say that the Horde is ready to attack Denerim quite yet. A few hours will make little difference."

Ridiculous as it was amid all the danger that threatened, the thought of a warm meal was a soothing one. Alistair nodded. "Agreed."


	10. Origins: Chapter 10

Leliana's chin sank forward and rested against Zevran's shoulder. Her grip around his waist slackened and he felt the full weight of her body slump against him as the horse picked its way over the ground. She was asleep. Not before time. He was exhausted himself but the energy he could see she was diverting into keeping her fool's hope alive was surely even more draining. Zevran could not understand the point in it. Antivan politics had taught him to be realistic, not sentimental.

He shifted his weight in the saddle so that she rested against him more squarely. It had been a full day since they had found the horse and now darkness was creeping around them once more. He could see torches a little way off in the distance. Darkspawn. In the daylight, the patrols had seemed fewer or at the very least easier to spot and they had been able to skirt around with being pursued. But truth be told, it seemed that the darkspawn had little interest in them anyway. Without the presence of two Wardens to draw attention, the elf, human and dog appeared to be of too little consequence to chase. The former Crow had a feeling he should be insulted.

The Mabari let out a growl just as the horse suddenly spooked. Leliana jerked awake, her grip tightening around Zevran through reflex. "Wh... what is it?"

"Quiet!" Zevran included all three in the instruction, placing a calming hand on the neck of the horse while aiming a kick at the Mabari and trying not to let Leliana's hold upset his balance in the process.

The horse continued to skitter, refusing to walk forward despite Zevran's best efforts to control it. There was an outcrop of rocks ahead of them, the tiny particles in the rock reflecting the dim moonlight enough to cast an outline but not much more. The Mabari continued to bear its teeth but he obeyed the elf's command for silence, crouching next to the horse with raised hackles.

Leliana slid off the back of the horse and took a few hesitant steps towards the outcrop. She stifled a yelp as she stubbed her foot against something and went sprawling across the ground.

"Leliana!" Unable to dismount for fear the horse would bolt, Zevran called to her as loudly as he dared. The darkspawn maybe did not see them as a direct threat but there was no need to unnecessarily signal their presence.

The sound of dry heaving reassured him that she was at least alive and under no particular threat. The Mabari made to spring in her direction but Zevran checked the dog with a click of the tongue. He could just about make out Leliana's form as she unsteadily got her feet. She stumbled towards him and the stench caught him off-guard. Darkspawn blood. Leliana was covered in it.

She gestured behind her while spitting out the bile that continued to fill her mouth. "Corpses."

The horse laid its ears back and flared its nostrils, unimpressed by Leliana's closeness in her current state. The Mabari moved closer to sniff at her before trotting to where she had fallen. He continued to sniff around the darkspawn corpse before following his nose further away from them and into the darkness. After a few moments he began to whine.

"Come back." Leliana called to him softly.

The whining only increased in pitch.

"We can't see you!" The Bard retorted as if in response to a question.

The dog bounded back to them and pawed at her. Leliana bent down and rested a hand on his neck. "Guide me then."

With a roll of his eyes, Zevran turned the horse and trotted a little distance back the way they had come to another outcrop of rocks. Dismounting, he ran his hands across the surface until he found what he was looking for. He took an arrow from Leliana's quiver which was slung across the back of the horse and drove it deep into the narrow crevice before knotting the horse's reins around it. It wouldn't stop the horse from bolting but it would act as a small deterrent and it was the best he could do in the surroundings. Zevran turned and rummaged through the saddle packs. There were some bandages stuffed at the bottom and taking another arrow, he made a make-shift torch. A look through the other saddle bag produced a flint. With one last soothing murmur towards the horse, he stumbled back towards the faint reflection of the light coming from the larger outcrop ahead. The Mabari appeared at his side out of the gloom and nudged at his hand with a wet nose. Zevran mirrored Leliana's earlier posture and allowed the dog to lead him to wherever she was.

As he neared, Zevran could make out Leliana as she knelt next to a dark heap. Another corpse. She was still, clutching something to her chest and staring down at the lifeless body.

"What is it?" Zevran sank down beside her and the Mabari wandered away once more, nose to the ground.

Leliana offered him the object without a word. It was a dagger. The blade was curved into an 's' shape and he only had to glance at it before recognising the unusual weapon.

"Elissa."

"She did this."

"It would seem so."

"There's another over there." Leliana gestured off to the side.

Zevran's eyes strained to follow the direction she pointed in but knowing what he was looking for, he was able to make out the thin silhouette of what he guessed was Elissa's main sword sticking straight up from another dark mound.

"She must be nearby."

The elf looked back at Leliana. Three corpses and discarded weapons; it had to be said. "She is likely dead."

There was a brief flash of reflected moonlight and Zevran realised that Leliana's eyes were filled with tears. He reached out and fumbled for her hand, squeezing it in an awkward gesture of support.

The Mabari gave a sudden bark, making them both jump. He was pawing at something in between the rocks that made up the outcrop, the movement of his stub tail helping them to pinpoint where he was. Before Zevran could move, Leliana was already on her feet with her damn fool's hope revived. She rushed to the dog, tripping over rocks as she did so and shoved the creature out of the way as she dropped to her knees with a cry. Hearing the change in her voice, Zevran fumbled for the flint and striking it off the rocky ground, lit the torch which he had dropped at his side. It flared up but settled into a bright if fast-burning light. He only hoped it would not act as a beacon to the darkspawn he had spotted.

Able to move without guidance from the Mabari, Zevran stood behind Leliana and held the torch over her head so she could make better use of the firelight. Elissa lay in front of them, slumped at an awkward angle. Her armour was soaked in foul darkspawn blood and beneath the grime, her face was a dirty grey tinged with blue. She gave no indication that she was aware of them.

"Is she alive?"

Leliana brushed the Warden's cheek but it was cold to the touch. She moved her hands over Elissa's body, desperately trying to find some sign of life. She was no mage healer but from what she could tell there were no obvious injuries. Her hands worked their way back across Elissa's core, searching for any crack in her rogue's armour which might give a clue as to what had happened. Leliana let out a hiss as her fingers caught on the rough edge of something. There was something embedded in Elissa's shoulder. She gestured for Zevran to hold the torch closer and leaned in to examine the wound. An arrow was embedded in the Warden's flesh, broken so only the poisoned tip remained. As Leliana looked to see how she could remove it, she felt the faintest tickle on her neck. Elissa was still breathing but only just.

"Yes but barely. Although being so near death must be what prevented the darkspawn from sensing the taint in her."

"Can you heal her?"

"No, she will need magic to draw the poison out. But hopefully I can keep her alive with the poultices and potions."

"Then you must hurry. We cannot stay here." Zevran suddenly threw the torch down and stamped it out.

"Zevr..."

The elf clamped a hand over Leliana's mouth and pushed her down next to Elissa, pressing himself against her so they both lay flat against the ground. She made to struggle but the Mabari hunched over all three, shielding them with a low whimper. Leliana froze as she caught sight of what Zevran and the dog had already seen.

High in the sky, circling over some point just beyond the hills, the outline of a large dragon passed across the moon.


	11. Origins: Chapter 11

Alistair stood on the bridge that connected Redcliffe Castle with access to the village and gazed up at the sky. It was a strange colour, the dawn creeping upwards from the east and bleeding into the blue-black of the night sky. The stars had faded but the sun had not yet lifted from the horizon. It was strange to think they had arrived at Redcliffe a few hours before sundown and now sunrise was seeing them prepare to leave again.

Dusk had fallen before Teagan had been able to regain enough semblance of order to fulfil his promise of hospitality. But once communication had been re-established, Teagan had ensured that all of Redcliffe's remaining resources were at Alistair's command. It had seemed wrong to accept the materials and equipment offered when it was clear that the villagers had just a great a need for them. As a compromise, he had ordered that his men remain at Redcliffe and help bolster its weakened defences. But it wasn't entirely a moralistic decision. With Eamon and the men promised to fulfil the Warden Treaties in Denerim, most of the horses had also been taken. Teagan had succeeded in sourcing three capable of galloping to Denerim but it would have been an impossible task to find replacements for the whole regiment, small as it was. But the villagers had seemed pleased with the exchange and even at this hour, Alistair could hear the rhythmical beating of metal on metal ringing out from the smithy.

His eyes strained to follow the movement of the small shape which sped away from him. Healing Morrigan had exhausted their supplies of lyrium but Wynne had succeeded in restoring her health and with a few hours rest, the Witch had seemed no worse for wear. She had listened to his request with a sullen look but had not argued. All she had requested was that he find a vial of lyrium. The small number of mages travelling with the army would have some lyrium to sustain her but not enough to replenish the amount of mana that shapeshifting required. He had sent orders that the bodies of the darkspawn Emissaries be searched before they were burnt.

_She had taught him that_.

Unable to distinguish the silhouette of the hawk against the sky any longer, Alistair allowed his thoughts to turn to Elissa. Riordan had not questioned his explanation as to why she was not in Redcliffe. He had no reason to distrust either Alistair or Elissa after all. And Elissa's legendary status amongst the villagers had helped. Listening to the stories they comforted one another with, it was no surprise that even an experienced Warden such as Riordan would believe Elissa capable of confronting the Archdemon alone.

Alistair allowed a smile to push through the weariness he felt. He had especially liked the tale that she could turn a darkspawn to dust with only a look. He had been on the receiving end of some of those looks and there was definitely some merit in the claim. It was extraordinary to think that even though she was now gone, the reputation she had left behind was able to sustain the faith she had been unable to maintain within herself.

_The faith that he had in her._

He suppressed the thought before it could rekindle the dull ache into something more. Exhausted from the journey, bruised from the fighting and faced with the possibility that Denerim would be destroyed before they could reach it, Alistair was at the end of his resilience. Thoughts of _her_ were of no use.

"Riordan is making the final preparations. He says we will be ready to leave once the blacksmith has completed the repairs." Wynne had approached without him noticing.

Alistair nodded in acknowledgement. He was surprised she had sought him out rather than let Riordan do so. Things had been strained between them since their last conversation and the exhaustion she had suffered from after healing Morrigan had prevented any chance at clearing the air.

"Perhaps it is time we had another talk." Wynne made her tone almost conversational but there was an edge to it which betrayed her.

Alistair braced himself. "A talk?"

"Yes." She allowed time for a loaded pause. "About where babies come from."

"Andraste's blood, not this again!" He groaned, the blush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks.

"Well it seems you did not listen." This time she didn't bother to disguise her anger. "And now Morrigan is pregnant."

It was fortunate that Wynne was now in full flow because Alistair had no idea what to say.

"Not only pregnant but with dark magic coursing through the child. And don't you dare try and tell me that you know nothing of it! So yes, I think it is time we had a _talk_."

He was silent for a few minutes, looking back out to the sky. "It seems there is little else to add."

Wynne glared at him. It seemed as though Elissa was not the only one capable of turning things to dust with a look.

"How do you know, anyway?"

"I sensed something when she asked me to heal her eye but it was too soon. Today however..."

"You realised there was more than just a scratch?" Wynne's words came back to him and he was able to hear the hidden meaning in them.

"Yes."

He continued to stare out ahead of him, still with no idea what to say. No wonder Morrigan had agreed to leave.

Wynne let out an exasperated sigh, sensing that he was as surprised by her knowledge of the revelation as she had been at discovering it. "Alistair. Talk to me, please."

"It's complicated." He shrugged but turned his head towards her. "All you need to know is that Morrigan must be kept safe."

"And if she is not?"

"Then either Riordan or I will have to sacrifice ourselves to kill the Archdemon."

"And Elissa knew?"

Alistair whirled round fully and glowered at her, resenting the implication in her question. Through clenched teeth, he hissed his response. "Yes."

Wynne held her hands up as a gesture of apology. She knew he resented what she had said to him previously in camp but she had not intended the current question as a slur on his fidelity. If anything, it was further proof that Elissa was his weak point. But now without her, he was finally searching for his own identity. As painful a process as it clearly was.

"Promise me you will protect Morrigan to the best of your abilities once she rejoins us," Alistair regained his composure with an obvious effort.

"You have my word."

Alistair looked back at the horizon. A sliver of the sun had crept above it. "Then we leave for Denerim."


	12. Origins: Chapter 12

The horse twitched its ears in the early dawn light as Zevran removed the bulky saddle bags from its back and dumped them on the ground. The brightness of the day contrasted with the dark threat that Zevran could only assume now lay just beyond the hills. Although the silhouette of the Archdemon against the moon had vanished after a few moments, it was clear the peace was only temporary. At least, it had been clear to him. Leliana had not agreed. And despite the logic of his arguments followed by a multitude of snide comments, he had been unable to dissuade her from tending to Elissa. So now, hours later, they remained with only the hills between them and the Horde.

Zevran let out a sigh. There was no use pretending. Leliana could hide behind her damned sentimentality but he couldn't. He could have left. He _should_ have left. Left both women to the consequences of their choices. Any reasonable person would consider his agreement with Elissa null and void. And he had no obligation to Leliana whatsoever. The elf shook his head with a tut. In truth, it wasn't the fact he had stayed which bothered him. It was more than that. It was the fact that he had _chosen_ to stay. Zevran was aware he was many things but he was quite content to acknowledge that 'hero' was not one of them. Yet here he remained. Perhaps it was better to simply acknowledge that there was nowhere else for him to go and leave it at that.

And maybe Leliana's fool insistence on staying had been rewarded because Elissa continued to cling onto what life remained in her. The Bard had succeeded in removing the poisoned arrow tip from Elissa's shoulder but despite the numerous healing poultices she placed on the wound and the endless drops of healing potion she had tenderly forced into Elissa's mouth, the Warden had remained unconscious. Even the presence of the Archdemon had not provoked any response from her. Zevran had witnessed the effect of the nightmares both she and Alistair had suffered from during his time in camp. More than once, he had been relieved from his turn at guard before time because neither she nor Alistair could face closing their eyes again. He had little hope for her recovery if Elissa was now even beyond dreaming.

With all equipment from the horse removed except for its saddle, Zevran led the creature back to the outcrop of rocks. Having given up attempting to reason with Leliana during the night, he had busied himself by removing the darkspawn bodies from the vicinity and now the horse allowed itself to be guided nearer to where Leliana and Elissa were sheltered by the rocks. At the sound of the horse's hooves, Leliana glanced up.

"We must leave."

She sighed but gave a small nod, consenting at last. She had done all she could for Elissa for the moment.

As the Mabari prowled round the horse to prevent it from backing away, Zevran and Leliana dragged Elissa up into a standing position and manoeuvred her nearer the horse. With an unceremonious heave, they hoisted her onto its back and Leliana mounted. Together they manipulated Elissa's limbs so that she leaned against Leliana and Zevran passed up some bandages so that both women could be bound together to prevent Elissa from sliding off.

The horse snorted its disapproval, eyeing the Mabari behind it.

Leliana patted its neck in reassurance before signalling Zevran to climb behind Elissa. "Ready?"

Zevran took a step back. He could have left but he hadn't. And now he had to accept the consequences. "Go."

"What?"

"The horse cannot bear all three of us."

Leliana stared at him, momentarily unable to process what she was hearing. Finally she blurted out, "Zevran, I am not leaving you here!"

"Of course not, you are leaving me to walk back to Denerim." He forced the joviality that was expected of him into his voice. "Do not think I will forget it either."

"The darkspawn..."

"I have no intention of dying, dearest Leliana. And I have an excellent track record of avoiding it, one way or another."

The Mabari gave a bark and settled himself next to Zevran, tongue lolling out.

"And apparently your friend is willing to stay with me."

The Bard shook her head in disbelief. Zevran studied her, any attempt at maintaining his usual exuberance evaporating from him. It really did escape him how she had ever been a successful assassin. She had the unfortunate habit of becoming emotionally attached to anyone around her. But then who was he to talk; here he was declaring his intention to remain behind for the benefit of two women he had only known a matter of months. Life had certainly taken an interesting turn since leaving Antiva.

"Why?" Leliana asked the question he had shied away from answering.

Suddenly the answer didn't seem so difficult. It made no sense but it wasn't difficult.

"I don't know. But it seems to be what I've chosen."

The Mabari whined and butted Zevran with his nose.

The elf gave a long-suffering sigh but a hint of a smile crept onto his face. "What _we've_ chosen."

The dog gave a short bark and wagged his snub tail.

"With the Horde so near, no one will be able to search for you." Leliana warned him.

"Then perhaps you will do me the courtesy of searching afterwards." Zevran continued to look at her. "That is if you are to content to chase after a lowly elf rather than mighty Wardens?"

Leliana nodded a silent promise.

"Good. Though now it is a case of professional pride, I refuse to be saved by an Orlesian Bard." The flippancy returned to his voice as he scoffed at her.

"Never fear. I will enlist your old colleagues to help with the search," she forced herself to match his tone. "I am sure the Crows will be most eager to be reunited with you."

Zevran let out a laugh and a sense of acceptance passed between the two. Leliana reached out a hand to him, unable to do much else from her position on the horse. He acknowledged the gesture with his own hand and she squeezed his fingers.

"Come back to us, Zevran."

The request was simple enough but even now he couldn't offer her the false promise he knew she wanted to hear. "If I can."

* * *

><p>The return to Denerim was swift for Leliana. No longer scouting for traces of Elissa's trail, she was able to direct the horse straight towards the city. She avoided what darkspawn she could, bolted past ones she could not and shot through with her bow and arrow those who gave chase. All the while Elissa slumped against her, a dead weight.<p>

As she neared the city walls, shouts rang out along the battlements as the City Guards recognised the red-headed Bard who accompanied both Warden and King. When Leliana clattered through the gates, the Captain was already there to greet her.

One look at the form behind her made it clear that action was required. He signalled for his men. The horse was held and a sword sliced through the bandages securing Elissa, hands reached out to catch her as she slithered off the horse. As Leliana dismounted, more hands were there to steady her as her legs readjusted to supporting her own weight. All the while the Captain fired questions at her.

Somehow the Bard was able to condense the main points into a coherent stream. She heard herself mumbling something about the Horde lying towards the Coastlands. That the army needed to be recalled. And that Elissa needed healing. The Captain issued rapid instructions to his men even as she spoke, taking her fragmented reports and turning them into action points.

"You, summon a scout. The army must be turned back. And you, inform the Revered Mother that the Warden needs healing. The rest of you, carry her to the Chantry and for Maker's sake, be gentle..."

"No! She needs magic!" Leliana interrupted.

The man spared her a second of undivided attention. "There are no mages in Denerim. But there may be healers among the Circle mages travelling with the army."

"She will die without..."

The Captain took a step towards her and grabbed her by the arm. Leaning close, he hissed in her ear, "It is one thing to bring news of the Horde to an undefended city; it is another to destroy all hope."

She gritted her teeth but kept her voice low. "Fine. But she _will_ die without a healer."

"Then you had better assist the Revered Mother," the Captain released his grip on her and turned to resume issuing his orders. He paused before throwing a quiet afterthought over his shoulder. "And pray to the Maker that we can find the army in time. For all our sakes."


	13. Origins: Chapter 13

_Blessed Maker._

Prayer or blasphemy, the line between the two had begun to blur in Alistair's mind and he had little idea how he intended the thought to be taken if the Maker was indeed looking on him.

He doubted it though. The multiple tensions which radiated out from the moving mass behind him did not suggest the presence of divine intervention in support of the greater cause. After two days of almost constant riding from Recliffe, the three companions had reached the army. Having already been turned back towards Denerim, Alistair had assumed that the hardest part of the journey was behind them. But it had soon become clear that Shale and Sten had imposed order simply through an exploitation of the fear and intimidation their presence created among the various factions. With his arrival, an unspoken assumption had arisen amongst the soldiers that he would prevent the golem and Quanri from inflicting any of the grievous bodily harm that they had previously threatened. Without the continued threat of severe punishment, the uneasy peace between the groups had begun to crumble and now men clashed with elves, elves clashed with dwarves and the dwarves clashed with everyone. Regardless of the Blight, old hostilities died hard.

And where hostilities had not previously existed, Oghren remained diligent in his duty to fill the gap. His behaviour had ensured fractions with all those who did not share his particular point of view. And with views limited to drink and women, kindred spirits had been difficult to find and adversaries all too easy.

Alistair rubbed at his forehead with a stifled groan. As the army moved closer to Denerim, the greater the pounding in his head grew. He assumed it was an effect of the taint but it was one he had never had experience of before. The pain was cloying as it crept into his mind and hindered any attempt towards tactical thinking let alone a resolution to the splintering of the army he now led.

"T'was my understanding that the call of the Old Gods was pleasurable for those with the taint." Riding next to him, Morrigan had caught his grimace and seized on the opportunity to bait him with an eagerness that he had not seen since before the Landsmeet.

Alistair ignored her, choosing instead to concentrate on telling himself that the pain was not as bad as he thought. He was beginning to realise that he preferred Morrigan as the constant ominous shadow who had accompanied him on the journey to Redcliffe rather than the insufferable harpy she had reverted back to.

He knew she intended her behaviour as a unique form of punishment. Travelling with both her and then Wynne, Alistair had become accustomed to magic being freely practiced around him. What was unfortunate was that he had forgotten that he was in the minority. From what he had been able to gather, the Templars had not reacted well to the sight of a shape-shifting apostate transforming in front of them. And although the combined pressure of Sten, Shale and Ohgren had prevented the Templars from physically harming her, it remained clear that Morrigan placed the blame for the entire incident firmly on his shoulders.

_At least that was what they were intent on pretending. _

Relegated to the back of the army due to the mini tremors caused by her footsteps, Shale had informed him of the disagreement between the Witch and Templars as soon as the three horse riders had drawn near. Unable to recognise Morrigan amidst the other mages, Alistair had dismounted and pushed his way through the ranks towards them in search of answers. As he neared and news of his arrival had spread throughout the army, the mages had become strangely unsettled. The unexpected disruption in the tightly controlled unit had unnerved the Templars, causing them to strike out at the dissenting mage who had pushed her way to the front and towards Alistair.

Pretending meant that neither he nor Morrigan had to acknowledge the existence of the frightened young woman, dressed in unfamiliar Circle robes and suffering from severe lyrium withdrawal, who had crumpled to the ground at his feet with a cry. They did not have to face the fact that her shaking hand had clung onto his, nails digging into his palm, as he helped her back to her feet. Both could overlook how the mage had continued to clutch at him longer than was necessary for her to regain her balance. And they could certainly ignore the fact that the look in the mage's eyes had revealed she was as frightened by her own powerlessness as she was by the Templars' intimidation.

It was Wynne who had provided the necessary break in tension that threatened to escalate between Alistair and the Knight-Captain as a result. As she passed Alistair, she pressed the two vials of lyrium that had been retrieved from the Emissaries into his spare hand while greeting the familiar faces from the Tower. He had accepted the diversion and ushered Morrigan away, slipping her the vials as the closing ranks of the army hid them from the direct eye line of the Templars.

But the Knight-Captain was clearly reluctant to renege his watch over such a dangerous apostate and despite the distance which Alistair was maintaining from the Circle mages, it had not escaped his attention that there were now two Templars flanking them. Morrigan's current behaviour was proof that it had not escaped her notice either. Yet being able to account for her renewed enthusiasm for tormenting him did not stop him from wanting to throttle her. He could have sworn that she was deliberately speaking in a higher tone than usual.

Riordan pulled his horse alongside Alistair's as he overheard Morrigan's comment. "Are you alright?"

Alistair shrugged in an attempt to save face in front of the older Warden.

"You must try to block it out. It will only get worse."

"Brilliant." Alistair muttered under his breath, wincing as another stab of pain pulsated through his skull.

Before Riordan could respond, a shout went up from the front of the army and the three turned their attention in the direction of the cause. In the distance ahead was a small figure of a horse and rider. Guiding their horses away from the army, they kicked their horses into a canter to ride out and meet the figure while the army continued to march behind them.

As they drew near, it became clear that the man was sparsely equipped both in armour and weaponry. He was dressed so that his weight was as light as possible for the benefit of the horse. A scout.

The apprehension with which he drew his horse up was soon replaced with a marked relief. On recognising Alistair, he let out an exclamation.

"Thank the Maker! Your Majesty, I have orders that you must return to Denerim. There is news that the Horde lies just to the North."

"Who orders the King, I wonder?" Morrigan continued to amuse herself although she did so under her breath.

Alistair eyed the scout, evidence of hard travel apparent from the state of his clothing and horse. "When were you sent?"

"A day ago. But we did not expect you to be even this close."

"Then Denerim may yet be saved." Riordan murmured to Alistair.

He made a non-committal noise as a though occurred to him. Rumour had informed their return but it was unlikely a scout would be sent on the basis of rumour alone. "How do you know this?"

"The Bard brought reports of the Horde."

Alistair started and the movement resulted in a small kick, causing his horse to skitter. He hurriedly settled it. "_What?_"

The man fidgeted and made an obvious effort to avoid Alistair's gaze.

"There is something else?" Riordan prodded the man.

"The Warden..."

The scout had barely spoken the words before Alistair's horse began snorting, trying to toss its head into the air as the bit between its teeth was pulled to the back of its mouth. Alistair's knuckles were white as he continued to pull back on the reins, an action symptomatic of the tension which now filled his posture. He fixed a hard stare on the man in front of him, the colour of his face matching that of his knuckles.

Morrigan had also paled at the words but had succeeded in controlling herself. She reached out and wrenched the reins from Alistair's hand to give the horse more freedom. He appeared not to notice, still focused on the scout.

Through clenched teeth, he managed to force out, "What _about_ the Warden?"

"It is only rumour. I was not given a message." The man began to backtrack, sensitive to the apparently negative reaction his words had produced.

"Tell. Me. Now." Alistair's tone was harsh, each word clipped.

Riordan studied him with a frown, confused by the younger Warden's behaviour.

"The Bard brought her back from the Marches." The look which flew between Alistair and Morrigan hinted more to Riordan than the revelation itself. The scout remained oblivious. "She is in the city."

"Elissa is in Denerim?" Alistair heard the change in his voice even as he spoke but Morrigan let it pass without comment. She could feel the small flicker of her own hope splutter into life at the news.

The scout nodded. "That's what I heard. She was injured but she was taken to the Chantry for healing."

"What injuries?" Morrigan demanded.

"I don't know, the rumours were conflicted."

"But she is alive?" Alistair pressed him.

"Of course." The scout looked puzzled by the question, clearly under the impression that Grey Wardens could not be killed by something as mundane as a few injuries.

Alistair made to question the scout further but Riordan interrupted him before he could speak. Without acknowledging Alistair, he issued abrupt instructions to the scout while gesturing behind at the army who were quickly closing the small distance that lay between them. "Inform the Qunari that we have confirmation the Horde lies at Denerim. No one rests until we reach the city."

The scout hesitated, sensing that Alistair wished to speak more but the unwavering stare from Riordan convinced him to kick his horse past the three and towards the mass behind them.

Riordan turned his head back towards the Witch and younger Warden.

"I think there is something you wish to tell me." The deliberate manner of his delivery only served to emphasise the storm which raged beneath his collected exterior. "Don't you?"


	14. Origins: Chapter 14

_Makersaverher_

The prayer had been offered up so often that Leliana no longer thought each individual word but instead drew comfort from the now rhythmical intonations which recited round in her head.

She maintained a solitary vigil over the bed where Elissa lay. Too listless to be described as peaceful and too vulnerable to be recognised as the Grey Warden of Ferelden, there was little else to be done. As Leliana feared, and the Revered Mother had quickly realised, there was no herbal treatment which the Chantry could offer that could counteract the poison which had spread throughout the Warden's body. It was true that Leliana had continued to place healing poultices over the wound but somewhere deep inside, she was aware that all that was keeping Elissa alive was the strange energy of the taint within her.

Leliana fingered the handle of the dagger which rested in her lap. The glint of the blade contrasted with the dull gold embroidery of the robes she was now dressed in. Even before the Revered Mother had discovered that all she had to offer were her own prayers, the woman had insisted that both Leliana and the Warden be cleansed. They had been stripped of their armour, washed of the grime and blood and redressed in clean clothing; Chantry robes for the Sister and light linens for the Warden. But if any other cleansing had occurred, Leliana did not feel the effect of it. Alone in the private rooms of the Revered Mother, the Maker had never seemed so far from her.

She ran a finger lightly across the sharp edge of the blade. It was not so long ago that she had heard the first alarms raised. The Horde were within sight of the city. The sound had been dull and unremarkable, deadened by the stone walls that lay between the room and the outside world. The silence which blanketed the inside of the room contrasted with the terror that Leliana imagined existed just beyond it. A long time ago, she had found silence to be soothing. In seeking peace within the stillness, she had once heard the voice of the Maker. But there was no peace to be had in this suffocating silence and the Maker no longer had any words for her.

_Surely He would not abandon her now?_

Leliana's finger slipped and she drew a sharp intake of breath as the blade sliced into her skin. She laid the dagger back in her lap and examined the small cut, raising it to her mouth as a small bead of blood seeped out. She was unsure whether her question referred to herself or Elissa. Both women were in as great a need of spiritual guidance as the other.

Her vision had been what had sustained her. Once, after leaving Lothering, Alistair had questioned her as to whether she wished she could have stayed to help the people of the village. She had been practical in her response; arrogant even. She had eased her conscience with the platitude of _as the Maker wills_. She had comforted herself with the notion that she was serving the greater good by leaving with the Warden.

_What greater good was she serving now?_

The brief taste of copper in her mouth made her stomach queasy. She re-examined her finger, careful not to squeeze the cut and encourage it to bleed further. She was unable to answer her own question. Perhaps this was a fitting punishment. As the weeks had become months, Leliana had turned more and more to Elissa rather than the Maker. She had sought out the Warden's guidance over His. And despite her vision instructing her to fight against the Blight, she had forsaken that when she had chosen to search for Elissa rather than remain and defend Ferelden.

_It was she who had abandoned Him._

Him.

Leliana glanced up from studying the cut to look at Elissa. She reached across and tenderly brushed away a strand of hair which had fallen across the woman's face. It was a movement she had noticed _he_ would do during the stolen moments when the two Wardens had forgotten what lay ahead of them and simply enjoyed the present with one another. Love's young dream, indeed.

An unbidden smile flickered across Leliana's face as she considered Alistair's reaction to being thought of in the same breath as the Maker. Such blasphemy, surely. The smile widen to a grin as she considered how Zevran would have ensured that such an association with the Maker could be slyly worded to guarantee that both Alistair and Elissa were reduced to stuttering simpletons. Despite being capable of defeating creatures which over the four hundred years since the last Blight had begun to fade into myth; simple and crude innuendo could reduce them both to quivering wrecks. It was an idiosyncrasy which Leliana had found endearing as well as entertaining.

_Zevran_. The stab of guilt which burned through her chest caused the grin to vanish and her hand to drop away from Elissa. The ease with which she saw her apparent path unfold before her had made her complacent. Yet sitting in the small room with only her own contemplation to renew her flagging faith, Leliana was forced to acknowledge how far she had strayed from it. She had chosen to turn from her original purpose; disregarded the Maker, abandoned Alistair and accepted Zevran's decision without protest, all for the sake of Elissa. In her arrogance, Leliana had presumed to understand all the Maker had intended. But her fondness for Elissa had blinded the Bard to the fact that she was only one of two Grey Wardens. And when Elissa had fled, Alistair had remained to continue the fight.

Her thumb rubbed across the small indentations at the base of the blade. Runes. It had seemed a harmless indulgence to allow Alistair to research which symbols were most appropriate to be etched onto her blade by the dwarf boy. She had little belief in them herself but she had appreciated the gesture of friendship that the offer had been intended as. A friendship she had been too quick to dismiss.

And too hasty to attempt to repair. As she raised her eyes to look again at Elissa, the thought which became increasingly louder than the prayer was the one which wondered whether she should have allowed the Warden to die in the hills. With the exception of the Maker, the only other who could possibly save Elissa was Wynne. The bond between the elder mage and young woman seemed to amplify the potency of Wynne's magic. But there was no way of telling how near the mage was and Elissa's deteriorating condition did not allow room for hope.

Leliana turned the dagger over and over in her hands. She had risked everything and everyone she held dear for Elissa. She had forsaken the Maker and turned from the path he had laid out for her. Yet there was nothing else to do but continue with the consequences she had brought on herself. She could only hope that the Maker would see her continued devotion to Elissa as some form of reparation for her sins. And that through her actions, He might see fit to bestow His mercy on Elissa.

Leliana rose from the chair, stretching the cramp from her limbs. The dagger remained in her hand, handle positioned so that the blade rested flat against her arm. She turned the bed sheets down a little further so that Elissa's upper body was better exposed. As she smoothed the readjusted sheets, she leant across and placed a loving kiss on Elissa's lips.

Once the Horde reached the city walls, Leliana knew the defences would soon be overwhelmed. The darkspawn would spill into the streets, laying waste to all that stood before them. It was too much to hope, secluded as they were in the bowels of the Chantry, that they would escape detection. But it did not matter what became of her. She would not be missed. Her only concern now was for Elissa. She would wait until the last possible moment but the Horde could not be allowed to desecrate the still living body of the Warden.

As Leliana's fingers curled tighter around the handle of the dagger, the endless recital in her head was replaced by a single utterance.

_As the Maker wills. _


	15. Origins: Chapter 15

_Leliana had kept her promise_.

It seemed so long ago, standing in the stable with the tingle of her kiss on his cheek and the echo of her words as they resonated throughout the empty space in his chest. As he stood there, his arms entwined around one of the few remaining connections he had to Elissa, he was aware that it should have been him to have made the promise. The fact that he could not, did not, would not had only emphasised to him the extent of his betrayal. Betrayal of Elissa, of himself and of their relationship. No matter how much Leliana loved Elissa; no matter how skilled Zevran was at tracking his marks; no matter how loyal the Mabari was to his mistress, none of them could replace _him_ searching for her. He had known it would tear him apart, to know that three small souls searched for the only one who could completed his. Not that the number mattered. He could have sent the whole of Ferelden after her; it would still have been a poor proxy.

_It should have been him._

He had not permitted himself to dwell on it. Because if he thought on it too long he knew he would come to resent the way in which Elissa had manipulated his own obligations against him. Because being angry even if it was at Elissa, Maker forgive him, was preferable to the haunting thought that it had been _him_ who had finally chased her away. That it had been for _him _that she had given all she was. To the point that _he _had all but destroyed her.

_Sweet Andraste, she had kept her promise_.

The dull ache which had become a constant companion deep within eased a fraction. Leliana had found her. The pounding in his head retreated from his temples. She had brought Elissa back to him.

Alistair forced himself to wrench his gaze away from the retreating form of the scout only to be confronted by the accusatory stare from a grim-faced Riordan.

He had imagined that such a confrontation would be more difficult. Instead his sense of duty had never seemed so clear. Forever a Grey Warden and always hers. Neither could be forsworn; two constants that helped to shape his world. Everything else was negotiable. Everything.

Alistair drew himself up and forced himself to meet Riordan's stare. He took a deep breath, intent that there should be no trace of hesitation in his voice. "Elissa was unable to carry this burden any further."

Morrigan drew a sharp intake of breath, fixing her own accusatory glare on him. He could feel the intensity of her look burn into the side of his head. He made a point of holding Riordan's gaze as he continued. "And I will not allow you to judge her."

The Senior Warden studied the young recruit in front of him, eyes narrowing at Alistair's impudence. With a harsh voice, he finally broke his silence. "I believe I have already pointed out that we are not judges."

"I saw no harm in emphasising it," Alistair remarked with a casualness he did not feel.

Riordan remained motionless for a moment before stirring in his saddle and allowing some of the tension to ebb from him. "The Joining binds us to the darkspawn. You know this. If you were also to forswear your oath and flee today, you'd find yourself in the Deep Roads or the Blight-lands, given time. How Elissa chose to face that fate is up to her." His tone was matter-of-fact but the anger which had begun to simmer up through the cracks in his guarded expression was dissipating along with the tension. "But my preference would have been to face it among friends."

Morrigan arched an eyebrow, her ever ready sneer contorting her face. "That sounds like judgement, Warden."

Alistair made a half-hearted growl at her. There was nothing to be gained by antagonising the man yet the Witch's own way of defending Elissa was a welcome ally.

"It is not intended as such," Riordan brushed her comment away without so much as a glance in her direction.

Morrigan bristled and Alistair interrupted any retort that was forming on the tip of her tongue.

"Her friends..." he began and found he had to clear his throat. "...did not see how badly she was struggling until it was too late."

Morrigan fell silent. She sat in the saddle, reins entwined through her fingers but her thumb began to rub at one of the rings she wore. Alistair focused on the slight movement as means of a distraction while he fought against his fingers grazing against the amulet around his neck.

Riordan frowned, absorbing the change in tension between the two. Realisation dawned on the Senior Warden. "You think it is your fault that she forswore her oath."

The dull ache from deep inside, eased but not gone, tore into a gaping rift in his chest before he could prevent it. Caught unawares, Alistair struggled for a breath as the feeling racked through his body and constricting his chest.

Riordan let out a heavy sigh although his face softened into an expression of sympathy. "I do not know whether this is truly your fault or not, Alistair. But what Elissa achieved is remarkable. I do not believe such a woman would everything she had worked for to be disregarded so easily." The younger Warden made to speak but Riordan held up a hand up to indicate he had not finished. "And I do not believe she would entrust the task to be completed by anyone. The fact that she has trusted you to take her place suggests to me that perhaps she saw a quality in you that she herself could no longer find."

"Duty." The word seemed to stick in his throat leaving a bitter taste. Once it had been the definition of him; now it seemed only a shackle.

Morrigan glanced at him, face expressionless save for a small draw of her brows.

"Indeed," Riordan also had a faint frown. "Do not allow the news of her return to deter you from the task ahead."

"I know what must be done." There was a terseness to his voice that Alistair had not intended. He had the feeling that Riordan had sensed a thought in him that Alistair was yet to fully realise himself.

"Good," the Senior Warden made no comment on the tone. "I cannot condone a Grey Warden Sister abandoning her oath but I do not judge her."

"Thank you."

It was an odd response to make but it reflected the conflicting sense of gratitude and relief that Alistair was experiencing. But as he glanced towards Riordan, he caught the ghost of a memory cast a shadow over the older man's face. As the Senior Warden noticed Alistair looking towards him, he cleared his throat.

"Elissa may no longer be the indestructible goddess you once thought. But even Andraste herself was only a woman."

Alistair blinked. He had heard many comments about Elissa but an allusion to the Maker's prophet was new.

Riordan readjusted the reins in his hands, giving himself a small shake as he recalled the escaped memory back deep inside. Even after all that had occurred in recent days, it was the closest Alistair had seen the man to being flustered.

He turned his horse's head back towards the army. "It seems the Qunari has not listened to the scout. At a double march we should reach Denerim within a day. It would seem wise not to waste any time if we wish to recognise the city."

Alistair nodded, grateful that the man had made no reference as to how likely it may be that they would recognise let alone find Leliana and Elissa.

As Riordan kicked his horse into a trot, the Witch and younger Warden were left to watch as he moved away from them.

"How close must you be for the ritual to work?" Alistair broke the silence, succeeding in masking the fear that was mingling with the fresh pain Riordan's words had caused. He had seen for himself the supplies Leliana had smuggled into the saddle packs when he confronted her. For Elissa to have been taken to the Chantry suggested that she required healing that was beyond anything Leliana could offer. And the lack of a specific message suggested a preoccupation that was an unusual characteristic in the Bard. Reading between the lines Alistair could guess that whatever else had happened, Elissa had not chosen to return of her own accord. He was not sure what he expected her to do in such a state but he was certain that no matter what, he wanted to protect her from any foolish choice her despair might lead her to.

"Closer than this."

"This should not have happened. She should not have been alone." The next thought slipped out without warning. "My duty should have been to her."

Morrigan did not respond immediately but she gave a small shake of her head. "No. Defeating the Archdemon is your duty for the moment. What is done, is done; Warden."

"King." The word was spoken almost by reflex, a symptom of being lost in his thoughts.

The Witch's gaze never strayed from the figure of Riordan who had now reached the front lines of the still marching army. Sten had turned to listen to whatever he was saying. "A curious thing."

Alistair made a non-committal noise at the back of his throat. He had no wish to resume the bickering of earlier. Instead he watched as Sten turned away from Riordan and he caught the faint echo of the command that was bellowed across the mass. On hearing it, the whole army juddered into a double time march.

"A curious thing that Cailan's widow should know of the risks of the Joining," Morrigan spoke again, her tone more pointed. "Tis one of your Order's most precious secrets, is it not?"

Alistair frowned, allowing his head to turn towards her a fraction.

"Does she know of the effect of the taint, I wonder?"

"It's hardly relevant any more, is it?"

Morrigan shrugged, eyes still trained on the army which was now nearing them. "Tis an interesting point. A bargaining chip perhaps."

"For what?"

"To allow a dangerous enemy to live."

Alistair shifted in his saddle so that he could look at her fully, eyes narrowing at her implication. Once again, he had a sense that others had a better awareness of his thoughts than he did himself.

Morrigan caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. "Of course, a King who survives the Blight yet willing abdicates the power and influence of a throne for a simple love affair is more foolish than dangerous."

He started, causing his horse to toss its head in annoyance.

A lopsided smirk crept onto Morrigan's face as she pulled her horse round so that it faced towards Denerim. "And there is no greater fool than you, Alistair."

He was saved from answering by the rhythmical thudding and clashing of Ferelden's army marching towards Denerim. Towards the Horde; towards the Archdemon; towards Elissa.

* * *

><p><em>This chapter was a second attempt. I'm very grateful to Ikasury, Fenzev and Aya for their reviews since their comments meant I rewrote this and took the story in a different direction. It's important to me to acknowledge their influence which is why this little author's note stays here. :)<em>


	16. Origins: Chapter 16

Throughout the night the army had continued on its march towards Denerim. With each hour, even surrounded as she was by mages and Templars, Wynne caught more snatches of the rumours which rippled throughout the troops. Small details varied but the message remained consistent; Elissa lay in Denerim, wounded but alive.

As dawn began to bleed into the sky, Wynne was able to make out the sight of Riordan sitting above the sea of heads next to the unmistakeable figure of Sten. From her current eyeline, she was unable to see Alistair or Morrigan but she imagined that they continued to ride a little further in front. Wynne did not agree with the treatment Morrigan had received at the hands of the Templars but Alistair's reaction had come as an unwelcome surprise. His casual dismissal of the fragile politics which existed between Crown and Chantry was part of the reason she had remained with the other mages; a conciliatory prize in place of the Witch of the Wilds. And the fact that Alistair and Morrigan now rode together unsupervised caused her no end of concern.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Wynne disentangled herself from the company of younger mages and lengthened her stride so that she fell into step with the Knight-Captain. The man eyed her with a barely concealed disdain.

"It's alright dear," she patted his arm, recognising that to be anything other than the little old woman would result in an unfortunate confrontation. "Would you send word that I wish to speak with the Senior Grey Warden?"

The Templar sneered. "And what would you have to say to a Grey Warden?"

Wynne forced herself to smile. It seemed that the respect she had earned within the Tower did not transfer away from it. She patted his arm again. "I am not as young as I once was, dear. I was hoping he would allow me to ride with him."

The Knight-Captain looked her up and down and she made a point of throwing in a limp. Muttering under his breath, he signalled one of the guards from behind. With a growl, he issued the instruction and the young Templar moved off towards the front ranks.

"You are very kind."

There was a poorly disguised snarl in response. Wynne took it as a signal that their interaction was now at an end. She watched for a sign that the message had been passed to Riordan. Finally the Grey Warden's head turned and she could make out his ever serious expression as he inclined his head downwards so that he could hear the young Templar more clearly. He straightened and twisted round, his gaze flickering across the mass behind him as he searched out the small contingent of mages. Spying their position, he encouraged his horse out to the fringes of the army and trotted down its length until he was level with the Knight-Captain. Wynne raised an eyebrow at the Templar as means of question.

"Do not think you are unsupervised, mage."

"I could never feel safe if otherwise, dear," Wynne murmured as she took her leave.

Riordan noticed her pushing her way towards him and dismounted, holding his horse by its bridle. As she emerged from the ranks, he offered a hand to help her mount. She accepted the gesture, making a point of completing the manoeuvre in as clumsy a fashion as possible. Riordan snorted at what he could recognise as a performance.

"Hush," Wynne murmured, sneaking a look in the Knight-Captain's direction. "Start walking."

Obediently, Riordan began to lead the horse at a suitable pace. Not quite the double march of the army, it was sufficient to allay any fears the Knight-Captain may have had that he was about to lose yet another mage from his possession.

After a few minutes, the Senior Warden glanced back at Wynne. "May I assume this is to do with the ... unexpected... news about Elissa?"

"So the rumour is true. I had feared as much," Wynne sighed, understanding the significance of his phrasing. She doubted that the Senior Warden was aware of everything but clearly it had no longer been possible for Alistair to continue to hide the fact of Elissa's departure. "Riordan, we must talk about Alistair."

A frown settled onto the man's expression, offsetting the guarded one he habitually wore. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

"His relationship with Elissa."

"It is not our place to discuss such matters," he gave a dismissive shake of his head.

Wynne chose to ignore the protest. "He is naive. His love for her eclipses all else and he cannot see past her if she is near. With this news, he cannot be trusted to fulfil his duty either as King or Grey Warden."

"He is not the first Grey Warden to have a heart."

Wynne shook her head as her growing annoyance caused the inflection of her voice to change. "But it is the first time he has given his heart. And he has given it unconditionally."

"You judge him too harshly."

"It is not judgement to understand what motivates another person." Wynne looked out towards the front of the army. From her new vantage point, she was able to glimpse Alistair as he rode beside Morrigan. Despite riding side by side, they did not appear to be speaking with one another. That was some comfort at least. "I once spoke to Elissa about it. I asked her what she would do if she was forced to make a choice between saving her love and saving everyone else..."

The mage's voice trailed off as she realised that just as she had tried to warn her, Elissa had finally been forced to confront the choice she had spent the last year evading. Although Alistair had refused to be drawn on any further details about the child, Wynne was able to piece together the real incentive behind the conception. There was only one who could have brought the Witch and Templar together in such a manner. It seemed Elissa had indeed made a choice. Her subsequent departure, as Riordan had phrased it, also suggested that she had quickly become aware it had been the wrong one.

Riordan looked back at her, sensing that her train of thought had been interrupted. "And?"

Wynne blinked, hastily recollecting herself. "She could not answer."

"What has that to do with Alistair?"

"Her inability to answer at least suggested a conflict. My fear is that Alistair would have no such hesitation."

"He knows his duty."

"It is not enough for him to know it. He must act on it without faltering. He must accept that he stands alone."

Riordan fixed a hard stare on her, allowing the horse to guide his steps for the moment. "Your expectations are unfair. Neither Elissa or Alistair were ever expected to bear this duty alone."

"How can you say that? All were massacred at Ostagar. It is a miracle either of them survived."

"And even more so that both did."

There was something about the way in which Riordan's stare softened for an instant that made Wynne swallow the retort which was on the tip of her tongue.

At her unexpected silence, he allowed a thin smile to emerge. "There is too much grey in my hair for me to believe that their joint survival was entirely ordained by the Maker. But either as the two new recruits they were to the two remaining Grey Wardens they now are, they were never intended to face this task alone. Until this point, they had one another. Now we must help to shoulder some of the burden. Alistair may be without Elissa but he is not alone."

Wynne again looked towards the front of the army. She had been so intent on ensuring that Alistair both recognised and achieved his full potential. A hasty response to Elissa leaving, it remained a necessary one. The decisive action with which Elissa tackled everything had meant it was all too easy for Alistair to fall into the customary follower role he was so comfortable in. Wynne did not regret her actions but now seeing the young man as the figurehead he was for both his country and Order, she realised she had done him a disservice. It was not that he rode in silence with Morrigan but rather that, unsure of himself and his role, he was unable to connect with any of those around him. By withholding her own support behind an insistence that he find his own way forward, she had only succeeded in presenting Morrigan as the one consistent point of reference amongst all else. It no longer seemed so surprising that Alistair had continued to seek out the company of the Witch and extend his protection around her despite their tempestuous past.

"Perhaps there is truth in what you say," she said at last.

"And perhaps there is also truth in what you fear," Riordan conceded, turning his attention back to where he was guiding the horse. "But for the moment, trust in him."

Wynne gave a small sigh. Her trust in Elissa had been poorly rewarded yet there seemed little alternative. "I will try."

* * *

><p>As the hours had crept by, Leliana had been forced to endure the sound of Elissa's breathing. Once slow but steady, it was becoming ever more laboured as the air was dragged into the young woman's lungs. At the bottom of the bed, Leliana paced the length of the room as she rolled the handle of the dagger between her palms. The growing terror which permeated the city streets had seeped through the stone walls and was now mingling with the dread that was already present in the small room.<p>

The Bard forced herself to fight for a sense of control. The lightness and quickness of her own breathing was too much of a marked contrast to the woman in the bed and Leliana was struggling to retain her sense of purpose. It was one thing to be the one to end the life of a friend; it was another to be forced to listen as the life slowly ebbed out of that friend. Her growing agitation was preventing her from staying alert. No one had sought her out since the initial alarms had been raised. When she had eventually crept out of the room in search of water and fresh poultices a few hours before, she had found the Chantry to be abandoned. Abandoned in favour of where, Leliana had little idea but she was certain that it was empty of people; of hope; of faith.

She flinched, shutting her eyes in an effort to ward off the thought. The sudden disorientation caused her to stumble and she staggered against one of the many bookcases which lined the walls of the Revered Mother's private room. There was a multitude of dull thuds as books and artefacts toppled to the floor. With a curse, Leliana dropped to her knees and allowed the dagger to clatter to the floor at her feet. Haphazardly, she gathered the most prominent objects and shoved them back onto the nearest shelves. In her distraction she prayed that the Revered Mother would not come scurrying in to see what had happened.

The realisation of the absurdity of the worry made her stop mid movement and she allowed the objects in her hand to drop to the floor. There was a clatter as the wooden decorations rolled about on the stone floor. Leliana rocked back onto her heels and covered her face with her hands. A brief moment to collect herself, that was all she could spare. But in that short moment, an unbidden sob pushed its way up from the pit of her stomach and her shoulders shuddered. In her past life she had spent many an hour watching and waiting for the perfect moment. She had always hoped that both moment and act were completed quickly. But now she did not know what she hoped for.

As she rocked on her heels, the brief moment she had allowed herself stretching on, the whole building seemed to judder. Leliana jerked her head from her hands, body tensed as she held her breath and willed herself to hear. Another shudder travelled through the walls of the building and she heard some commotion from outside. Distorted and muffled, she could still sense the fear that accompanied the noise.

Her hand snaked down to her feet and her fingers curled around the handle of the dagger which still lay on the floor. She drew it up to her chest, cradling it as she slinked across to the bedside. The Bard glanced down at Elissa. Her free hand reached out and stroked the Warden's cheek, fingers tracing down the woman's jaw line. The cool sensation of Elissa's skin against Leliana's warm fingertips brought home the reality of what she had to do and the Bard's grip on the dagger loosened. Fighting to keep her composure, Leliana fumbled the dagger and it fell to the floor. The metal blade causing an almost musical tinkle as it bounced of the stone and skidded under the bed. The sound seemed amplified as it echoed off the walls and Leliaan froze, willing that her fraught nerves were exaggerating the volume. There was a moment of total silence as even Elissa seemed to hold her breath. Then a bang of a wooden door being flung against a wall echoed through the corridors beyond the little room.

Leliana swore and crouched down to rescue the dagger from where it had fallen. True, she did not have Zevran's dexterity with knives but to _drop _it... Scrabbling beneath the bed, the tips of her fingers brushed against wood grain. She snatched at it and drew it back out. A small figure of Andraste was clutched in her hand. Another object from the bookshelf. With an impatient hiss, Leliana tossed it onto the bed and fumbled about again. This time her fingers found the cold edge of the blade.

A heavy thud from outside reverberated through the stone floor.

Ignoring the sting of the blade as it pressed into her flesh, she wrapped her hand around it and pulled the dagger out. The darkspawn would do worse. Leliana scrambled to her feet. She had intended to slip the blade between Elissa's ribs. A dignified death. But the sounds seemed too near. Her fumble had cost her precious time and only a slit throat would ensure without doubt that Elissa was saved. She bit her lip. Such a brutal act should never be made against a friend.

Leliana glanced down at the dagger in her hand. Her own blood had dulled the reflection of the blade and she forced her grip to close around the handle, she felt the nip as the exposed flesh was pressed hard against it. The sensation of pain grounded her and helped to refocus her sense of purpose. She would not fail Elissa.

She loomed over the body in the bed, her hand leaning on the bedding as she steadied herself. The dip in the blankets caused the wooden statue to roll against her hand. Leliana gave a start before realising what had touched her. With a burst of anger, she snatched it up and threw it against the far wall. The thud of solid wood against stone seemed to echo the pounding of the blood in her head.

_Leliana_.

She turned back to Elissa and angled the blade below the woman's far ear. One decisive flick of the blade. It was not the first time she had done this but never to one so dear to her heart. She saw the sluggish rhythm of Elissa's pulse in her throat even as she felt the rapid pulsating of her own pulse beating against the handle of the dagger and the inside of her head.

_Leliana._

The pounding was causing her to hear her name. But she knew it was only wishful thinking betraying her. It could not be him. Not after all that had happened. Not now.

"Leliana, stop!"

* * *

><p>The sun had climbed from the horizon but was yet to gain height when a muffled groan escaped from Alistair as he absorbed the sight in front of him, drawing his horse to a halt. The city of Denerim finally lay only an hour or so from them. But as they had neared, the seething mass of darkspawn ebbing and flowing against the walls became more prominent as those within attempted to repel the attack of the Horde.<p>

"Courage," Riordan murmured, barely audible over the thud of the horse's hooves and the clatter of the marching army behind them.

The younger Warden reluctantly drew himself up so that he imitated the posture of someone who sat proud on his horse. A hint of a smile pulled at Riordan's mouth as he copied the movement. Morrigan muttered something under her breath before making an exaggerated point of following suit. Alistair raised an eyebrow at her and she scowled, daring him to say anything.

He observed the warning as out of the corner of his eye, he saw the beneficial effect their shared movements had on the army. Man, elf and dwarf all drew their shoulders back and held their heads high; regiments looked to their respective commanders and those commanders all looked to Alistair. The visible sight of the threat they marched against eliminated the hostilities that had so recently fragmented them and they waited for orders.

Despite his apparently impressive stance, Alistair deferred to the Senior Warden. "So... what now?"

Riordan was prevented from answering as both he and Alistair suddenly lurched forward on their horses, clutching at their heads. The call of the Archdemon screeched through Alistair's head, tearing apart any defences he had tried to put in place. But the ease with which the creature had sliced through his mind did not bother him as much as the horrified realisation that amongst the different chatterings, he could make out one or two notes. Discordant and faint, it was still song.

The Senior Warden recovered himself first, forcing himself to sit straight once more and placing a reassuring hand on Alistair's shoulder. Alistair battled with himself to also sit up, struggling to maintain the control which came with Riordan's greater experience.

"It knows we are here," Riordan's gaze flickered across the skyline of the city.

Alistair turned his head and spat out the bile which had filled his throat. He did not want to have to ask the question but he was aware that he did not have the self-control to be able to sift through the different songs for the only one he truly wanted to hear. "What about Elissa?"

The Senior Warden was silent and at first Alistair thought Riordan had deliberately ignored his question. But the man's gaze was hovering in one place as he turned his attention inward to the taint, searching through the confusing mass of sound for a familiar one. Finally, he shifted his gaze onto Alistair. "I do not know. But in uncertainty lies hope."

The words rang empty even to Alistair's ears and he closed his eyes in an effort to suppress the pain which threatened to overwhelm him even more than the call of the Archdemon. In an attempt to distract himself, he waited for the habitual snort to come from the other side of him. When there was nothing but silence, he opened his eyes and frowned at the Witch in confusion. Morrigan was staring out at the city. A flicker of her eyelids revealed she knew Alistair was watching her but she refused to acknowledge him any further. Yet it was the Witch's refusal to dismiss what even he could recognise as a fool's hope which comforted him more than Riordan's well-intentioned words. Alistair turned to face Riordan again and gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

As the sense of purpose returned to Alistair's face, Riordan looked back towards the city. "There is much to be done but let us focus on the city gates. Once we are in the city then we will be in a better position to see how best to defeat the Archdemon."

"Alright." Alistair forced himself to take a steadying breath.

Aware of the eyes of the army focused on them, Riordan made a point of bowing to Alistair as he took his leave for his now assumed role as messenger between King and Qunari.

As Witch and Warden kicked their horses back into a trot, Alistair took another deep breath. He would search for Elissa until the last possible moment; that was not in question. But as much as he wanted to believe in the blind hope Riordan and even Morrigan advocated, the Senior Warden's inability to sense Elissa meant that Alistair had to address his other responsibilities. As unpleasant as the conversation surely would be.

"Morrigan."

The Witch gave a small grunt of acknowledgement.

He forced himself to simply say the words. If he just spoke them then maybe he would not have to acknowledge what he was saying. "If it becomes apparent that Elissa is ..." Despite himself, he hesitated to say the word. "If she is dead then you must leave."

Whatever the Witch had expected to hear, it was not that. She rounded on him, fixing one of her unblinking stares onto him. At one time, he would have swallowed and wished he had continued with his Templar training. Now he brushed her reaction aside in favour of pressing home his argument.

"We both know you don't care what happens to me. And if Riordan fails and I must face the Archdemon then Anora is still alive for this very purpose."

"You assume much," Morrigan retained her snarling tone but she seemed flustered.

Alistair shook his head. "No, I don't. If Elissa is no longer here then there is no sense in risking the child." He fixed his own hard stare on her. "As much as you hate the fact, it is my child and I want to protect it." There was a brief hesitation before he muttered the next words. "And it's mother."

Morrigan fidgeted at the reins and unable to settle on which emotion to demonstrate, she let slip the detail. "He."

Alistair frowned, thrown by the response.

She already regretted saying it even as she clarified her statement. "The child is a boy."


	17. Origins: Chapter 17

_Stop_.

The desperation with which the word was spoken resonated around the room and her pulse seemed to thud in time so that the word repeated throughout her head.

Leliana refused to turn around but as she stood over Elissa, her eyes trailed down her arm to the hand which still held the knife to the woman's throat. A slight tremor passed through her and onwards to the knife which caused a telltale glint of reflected light.

"Hear _me_, Leliana." The owner of the voice had not come any closer.

With a slow and deliberate turn of her head, she allowed herself a brief glance over her shoulder. It was only as she recognised the bruised and bloody figure behind her that the whimper escaped. She threw the hateful dagger to the floor and spun to embrace the elf with a hiccupping sob.

Zevran did not resist as she clung to him although his attempt to disguise both his exhaustion and suffering was a feeble one. Leliana heard the sharp intake of breath as he tried to mask the pain her hold was causing. Within an instant she moved to support him, wrapping her arm under his shoulder while guiding him towards the bed.

"Where are you injured?"

The elf grunted as he dropped onto the bed beside Elissa, instinctively lurching onto one side to protect the broken arm that he cradled at his side.

"I think it would be simpler to ask where I am not injured, my dear," he grimaced.

Leliana tutted as she made to remove his rouge's armour so that she could better examine him. His compliance along with lack of comment, save to swear and curse as the pain exploded through his body, was sign enough that his injuries were severe. The Bard reached out and took one of the spare clothes from beside the bed. Dipping it in the water she had sourced earlier, she began to clean the blood and dirt from the various wounds.

As he winced, she looked up at him from her current kneeling position. "Sorry."

"I have endured worse," a ghost of a smirk crossed his face. "And not always from one so beautiful."

Leliana snorted but his attempt to retain some sense of normality between them was a welcome one. She rewetted the cloth and continued to clean as best she could. The presence of another friend and the action of doing something useful was helping her to regain the composure and perspective that she had struggled to hold onto. She darted a look towards Elissa. The young woman's breathing was still laboured but at least now Leliana was able to appreciate that she _was_ breathing.

"The Mabari?" The question was as close as she could bring herself to ask what had happened since she had left the elf to defend himself in the hills.

The small shake of his head was sufficient to communicate what was needed. Leliana continued her ministrations with a fixed stare on her work. After a few minutes she could trust herself to speak once more. "I am glad to see you, Zevran."

"As am I to see you."

Leliana forced herself to look up at him and was rewarded with a rare but genuine smile. She felt the corners of her mouth turn in response as one of the weights lifted from her conscience.

Zevran turned his head towards the form of Elissa lying next to him. A short look at the Warden communicated to him all that he needed to know.

The Bard followed his look and guessing his question, turned her attention back to her task. It was a difficult admission to make and more so for the futility of his potential sacrifice it implied. "She will not last much longer."

He let out a strangled groan and Leliana realised that her lightness of touch had been forgotten as she contemplated her explanation. She clicked her tongue in irritation as she attempted to hide her oversight.

"Sit still."

Zevran made another grimace and pushed her hand away from him. "The army is near the city. You must go to the gates," he gave her a wry look before finishing his sentence, "and ensure the experienced healers are sent here."

The Bard frowned and shook her head. "No. I will not leave her. Or you."

"As much as it reassures me to be an afterthought," he raised an eyebrow at her. "You must. It was mere chance that I discovered you were here."

Leliana continued to shake her head back and forth as though the movement alone could prevent her from hearing Zevran's words.

"My dearest Leliana," he caught her hand with his own. His were still covered in blood and grime while hers seemed starkly white in comparison. The elf raised it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. "I understand."

She flinched before realising that there was no judgement in his words. He too knew the burden of friendship. His statement was a simple acceptance of the task she had appointed herself. And an unspoken promise to keep it on her behalf.

"You must hurry. There are ogres attacking the walls of the city as the Horde attack the gate."

"The vibrations."

The elf nodded. "Another reason the army must be warned."

Leliana settled her gaze on Elissa. It seemed abhorrent to leave the woman she had so resolutely sought.

"I will not fail you," Zevran caught the indecision on her face.

The Bard hesitated before dipping down to the floor. She picked the dagger up, the blade still bloody from her own blood before straightening. With a decisive movement, she wiped it clean with the cloth she had been using on Zevran before flipping the dagger and pushing the handle into Zevran's good hand.

As his fingers closed around it, Leliana turned on heel and walked out of the small room that she had fully expected to become her tomb. She did not trust herself to look back as she pulled the door shut behind her.

* * *

><p>The besieged walls of the city loomed ever closer with each stride of the horse and Alistair was aware that there were other things that should probably be occupying his mind right now. The Horde in front of him. The impossible task ahead of him. But all he could concentrate on was the tempting glimpse of the future beyond it all. For him, for Elissa and for the child.<p>

_Maker, he had a son._

There was a blissful moment of contentedness. Brief and all too fleeting, the reality of the present situation bore down on him and banished the feeling from his mind.

Until this point, the child had been a small detail in the back of his mind. A product of a dark ritual intended only to prevent a sacrifice. Something which had to be kept safe for reasons other than itself. Thinking of it in such terms had prevented him from having to acknowledge the conflicted loyalties which he could now feel creeping through his heart and paralysing him. No longer simply a child; his son.

That Elissa was not the child's mother was painful in itself. Yet the recognition of what he was now asking the mother of his child to do was just as raw. To allow Morrigan to continue to accompany him was to risk the boy. And yet to keep the Witch out of danger was to risk Elissa. Although he had agreed to the ritual due in part to his own rediscovered sense of self-preservation, his own life suddenly seemed inconsequential compared to those which now mattered most to him.

Alistair was aware that the decision was not his alone. But almost as soon as the detail had escaped from her, Morrigan had retreated far into herself. With each attempt to coerce her to talk with him, her expression had darkened as if she resented his prying into a matter which she did not consider as concerning him further. And when her horse had stumbled, she did not press the animal to keep pace with his. Instead she allowed the creature to slow to a walk until the two flanking Templars became escorts on either side of her. Everything she had done since the revelation had been a concentrated effort to keep as much distance from him as possible. There was little else he could do when the only other who knew was intent on ensuring that he could not question her further.

Only other. No. There was one other.

With an abrupt jerk of the reins, he pulled his horse round and kicked the animal into a canter back towards the bulk of the army. As he passed Riordan, he gave a signal to continue to march. Much like Morrigan, he had no wish to be questioned further.

Alistair was aware of all eyes on him as he searched through the ranks. It had not escaped his attention that Wynne and Riordan had shared a private discussion and he was under little illusion that he had been the sole subject of it. But no matter the current strain on their friendship, he could only hope she would not turn him away now.

As his gaze moved over the cohort of mages, he realised that Wynne had already begun to push her way towards him. Apparently the act of seeking her out had communicated the urgency of the matter if not the content. It was perhaps just as well. He could not trust himself to even begin the delicate process of appeasing the Knight-Captain.

He dismounted and waited for Wynne to reach him. Aware of prying ears as much as prying eyes despite the noise of the marching troops, he pulled her further to the side and positioned the horse between them and the army.

Within the relative seclusion and privacy, Wynne watched as the unchecked panic washed across his face. All titles vanished as the sense that he was entirely lost and without a point of reference reduced him to the young man she had too easily forgotten he was. She caught the same look of fear which had crept into Elissa's eyes and understood why he had sought her out. What Wynne had feigned ignorance over, Morrigan had since seen fit to reveal. The elder mage had been wrong; he had hesitated. Yet judging from the way in which it was now tearing him apart, it was a hollow victory.

She considered arguing that the child was a product of the taint and dark magic. That it should not be considered in the same manner as any other child. That it was doubtful any child could develop accordingly with the taint running through its veins. Surely that was as certain as the certainty that Alistair now stood in front of her. Yet as he searched her face for an answer she knew could not be found, she was aware that practicality would offer little relief to the inner turmoil. Finally, she settled on a simple acknowledgement. "So, you know."

"Tell me. Tell me what to do."

Wynne held his pleading gaze as she shook her head. "I cannot."

The blood drained from his face and Wynne realised he took her honesty as a refusal of support. She sighed and rested a hand on his as it lay on the horse's neck, squeezing gently.

"It is not my choice to make. And for the moment, neither is it yours."

A frown grew on his face as he shook his head, making to speak.

Wynne interrupted him. "I understand you want to protect the child. But however you feel, he was conceived for Elissa's sake, yes?"

Even as Alistair nodded, he could feel that damned blush creep across his face.

"Then just as you played your part, you must allow Morrigan to decide how she plays hers."

"But..."

The mage's grip over his hand tightened. "Morrigan's bond to Elissa is strong in its own way. You must trust that she would not do anything that would harm Elissa. If the child will protect Elissa then you must believe that Morrigan will guard against any harm coming to him."

Alistair remained silent as a sense of powerlessness ripped away any pretence of control he may have felt. To order Morrigan away if Elissa was too severely harmed, that had been practical. But to allow that tiny glimpse of the future, of _his _future, to rest on the whim of the Witch was almost too much.

"There may be a time when you must make the choice between Elissa and the child," Wynne's look was fierce as she tried to make him understand. "But such a choice cannot be planned for. And there is nothing to be gained by torturing yourself now for what may happen later."

He continued to stare at her as if unable to accept that there was nothing else that could be done except to wait.

"What I can promise you, Alistair, is I will do all I can," Wynne relaxed her grip as she tried to produce a reassurance through touch that words themselves could not produce. "For all three."

The desperate look as he searched her face revealed that such a promise was no longer enough.

"The rest is for the Maker to decide."

The tone was firm and the intent kind but in the emptiness of the words, neither found comfort.

* * *

><p>Leliana moved with a sure-step through the streets of Denerim. With Zevran's warning in mind, she had used all her stealth to escape unnoticed from the Chantry and slip away from the marketplace almost undetected by the increasing number of darkspawn that had made it past the city defences.<p>

As she passed the many corpses which littered the way, she had searched out an adequate bow and quiver. Unsure where the Revered Mother had placed her own equipment, Leliana had not stopped to search and was now forced to make do with what she could salvage. With each quiver she came across, she reclaimed the remaining arrows. The pity was that most were still in the quivers, unused by the good men who had simply been too ill-prepared for the fight that faced them.

As she reached the gates, it became clear that the City Guard were in disarray. Experienced guardsmen but not trained to repel such an overwhelming threat without guidance. Leliana searched through the chaos for a sign of a commanding presence. She recognised the profile of the Guard Captain standing with others who held themselves as if endowed with a status their current appearance and situation did not support. The Captain's mouth moved without pause as if trying to convince those around him of his argument.

The Bard ran towards him and as she neared she realised some of the faces around him were familiar. The nobles from the Landsmeet or at least those who were still able to fight.

"Sister," the Guard Captain interrupted himself as he recognised her even in her Chantry dress.

The small group surrounding him fixed their gazes on the woman in front of them. Now she was closer she was able to recognise one or two of the various nobles from the Landsmeet. Eamon. Sighard. Alfstanna. The Bard made a brief attempt to remember their appropriate titles before disregarding any such propriety and settled for a small dip intended as a universal bow and acknowledgement.

"Where is the Warden?" Eamon looked behind her expectantly.

"Elsewhere in the city," Leliana brushed aside the question and looked between the Arl and Captain. "Is it true the army are near?"

The Guard Captain nodded. "Yes but the darkspawn are preventing access to the gates. We need to provide a distraction."

"You have yet to convince us of a suitable distraction," one of the noble men sneered. Ceorlic. The only vote against Alistair and apparently as much a coward out of the chamber as in it.

"It does not have to be damaging so long as it refocuses the Horde's attention," the Captain was struggling to keep a respectful tone.

Leliana glanced around at the chaos which was beginning to engulf all around her. Without direction soon, the gates would fall regardless of what was decided.

Alfstanna was studying the other woman. An emissary from the Warden was worth listening to. She spoke over the reignited argument between Captain and Ceorlic. "Sister, you have more experience of fighting darkspawn. What is your recommendation?"

"The army must reach the city," Leliana remarked, thoughts focused on Elissa. "If we have enough capable archers then it is possible we could force the darkspawn to part near the gates."

Another of the nobles snorted. Wulff. "As soon as we stop firing then the darkspawn will close in again."

Alfstanna shot the man a dirty look. "You have offered no suggestion of your own. We must act."

"It will at least give them an opportunity," Sighard offered his support.

One of the first nobles to support Alistair, Bryland, also nodded. "We will have to trust that the army can handle themselves."

There was a murmured agreement from the group.

The City Captain rubbed at his face. "My men are not renowned for their skills with a bow. But I doubt it will matter so long as they can distinguish darkspawn from all else."

"Then I will lead them," Leliana announced, intent on drawing the discussion to a close.

Eamon frowned at her. "Sister, you have skills as a Bard, do you not?"

"What of it?"

"The men will need all the courage they can find. Your songs will be needed more than your bow," he remarked.

Alfstanna stepped forward towards Leliana. "I will lead the archers on your behalf."

"I will also assist," Sighard agreed.

Eamon looked towards the Captain. "The rest of us will help you to organise your men and weapons."

The Guard Captain gave a dutiful nod as Eamon issued instructions to the other nobles. United by a plan, the group disbanded to their assigned tasks. Chaos gradually became controlled panic as the nobles demonstrated the skills which their upbringing and military experience had moulded into them. Finally the city walls were manned by as many men who could be spared from the still heavily undersiege gates.

Alfstanna raised an eyebrow at Leliana as she stood shoulder to shoulder with the Bard, bow in hand and arrow cocked. Sighard had taken his position on the far side to ensure that the presence of nobles instilled as much fear of absconding as Leliana's song would provide courage. The Bard looked out over the battlements across the Horde and in the direction of the army headed for the city. There was no more she could do to keep her promise save for this.

Surrounded by trembling soldiers, their fear drifting out in waves towards the Horde, Leliana began to sing.


	18. Origins: Chapter 18

The horses had been turned loose. The remaining companions summoned to his side. And Alistair stood at the head of his army. Yet despite being almost at their heels, the darkspawn attack on Denerim was relentless. Small groups had broken away and were headed towards them but the Horde appeared mostly unconcerned by either the presence or proximity of the army. It was a confidence borne from sheer numbers rather than tactical advantage but the truth was still there. The route to the city gates was overwhelmed and it would take a substantial number of lives to carve a path through. Alistair knew it. The army knew it. And so did the Horde.

And somewhere amongst it all was Elissa. At least he found he had to believe she still was otherwise for him it was all for nothing.

The fragmented groups of darkspawn which had broken away from the main Horde were fast covering what little ground remained between them and the army. The chattering in Alistair's head had developed into an impenetrable wall of noise. A glance at Riordan suggested he was also fighting to maintain control over the constant barrage of clamour from the taint.

Alistair swallowed as he was confronted by the reality of the cost of the battle ahead of him. The lives behind him were forfeit on his order. It was a decision Elissa had faced many times over. Too many times and too often alone. Now as he prepared to make the same decisions, he realised too late what she had needed from him. She was his everything and in his inexperience he had assumed that love superseded all else. But before he had come to love her, he had been her friend. And it was the enduring support of that friendship which he missed most right now.

Of all the longings he had suffered since she had left, the most excruciating was the desire to simply have her at his side. To have the easy comfort that came from her being near him. To feel the inner sense of peace at her presence. To experience from her closeness the clarity and confidence to go forward. There may have been truth to Riordan's words that Elissa had seen something in him that he was still to fully realise himself. But Alistair knew that he had no incentive to be the person she could see if it meant being without her. He had thought he could. Had thought his sense of duty could sustain him. Had thought the brief glimpse of who he could be which she had enabled him to see was someone he could achieve alone. It was true that he could function without her and could act on the qualities she had already unearthed in him. But always Elissa would remain the catalyst for any further potential that lay within him. He was better for being at her side.

And Ferelden was better for having her fighting for its side.

As Alistair began to falter, the hair on the back of his neck started to rise. There was no specific sound that he could determine, surrounded as they were by the din of squeals and shrieks from the Horde, and yet he found himself standing a little taller as if he had found a small reserve of unspent courage. His reaction was mirrored by his companions as each straightened with their own sense of purpose visibly renewed. One by one, each tore their gaze from the sight in front of them and looked to Alistair.

The scattered darkspawn were drawn towards the taint in Alistair and Riordan and rushed the remaining distance that lay between them and the two Grey Wardens. With no finesse, Alistair took one step forward and thrust his sword into the lead shriek. The Warden gave a grunt as he twisted the blade in the creature before wrenching it back out. It dropped to the ground with a howl and its blood sprayed across his armour. Alistair stared down at it as it writhed at his feet before raising his sword once more and ending its suffering.

The action broke the last remnants of reverie from the others around him and the remaining straggling darkspawn were dispatched with a smooth efficiency.

It was time.

Alistair pulled his helmet over his head and raised his arm in preparation for the signal to attack. As he gave one final lingering look along the city walls, that same familiar hint of a sound in his ears, his imagination convinced him that there was a flash of red hair high among the grey stone battlements.

It was in that moment that the arrows began to rain down.

* * *

><p>Hesitant at first, it was as though Leliana was being reacquainted with a long forgotten friend. As the lyrics continued to trip off her tongue, the melody she sang began to grow in volume as she regained the confidence in her abilities. Her skill with a bow had often meant Elissa disregarded the Bard's other talents and it had been some time since she had sung in a manner intended to motivate troops mid-battle.<p>

The song seemed to float out and wrap itself around each hurriedly-assembled archer and Leliana watched as each man's arm was drawn back a little further and the creak of straining bows provided a bass tone amongst the other notes she continued to sing.

Alftsanna barked out an order and the arrows flew through the air in perfect arcs, striking down on the darkspawn below. The creatures were divided between continuing to siege the gates and instinctively defending themselves from the attack above. They began to scatter and the noblewoman continued to shout orders to direct the firing range closer to the gates.

For a moment the army appeared to freeze at the unexpected assistance but once understanding the opportunity being presented to them, they seized on it. Regiments split themselves into smaller manageable groups as the elves and mages provided additional support from behind while dwarves and men continued to push forward towards the gates.

Alfstanna shouted for hold and the arrows ceased as the first few ranks of the army reached the gates and were too close to the walls for the archers to provide additional support. Each man reloaded and trained their bows on the seething mass below, waiting for either the next regiment to advance or the swell of the darkspawn against those already at the gates; whichever came sooner.

As the gates were breached by the army, the darkspawn began to refocus their efforts on the groups now stranded further from the city. The instruction for the archers to continue came as the elves and mages became beset by the creatures. All the while Leliana continued to sing and the growing success of the tactic she had advocated led her voice to ring out with even greater conviction. In turn the confidence of the archers continued to develop and the resumed onslaught of arrows forced the darkspawn back from the elves and mages.

As some of the Redcliffe men backtracked to assist, the archers were once again ordered to stay their firing. Leliana peered over the battlements in an attempt to locate familiar figures amongst the troops but it was near impossible to distinguish one person from another amidst the disorder which swirled below. All she could hope was that those dearest to her had reached the relative safety of the city gates.

There was a sudden change in tension along the battlements despite the Bard's continuing rallying efforts and Leliana glanced towards Alfstanna as she sensed it. An uneasy panic had begun to pervade throughout the archers and the noblewoman let out a curse as she dropped her own bow and ran down the line of men towards Sighard. There was a fast and furious discussion as the two nobles bowed their heads together before Alfstanna straightened, snapping out orders along the line as she returned to her initial position.

"We only have enough arrows for one more assault," she muttered to Leliana as the Bard broke off her song.

Leliana cast a look back out over the battlefield in front of her. The elves and mages were still only creeping towards the gate despite the additional protection from the Redcliffe men. Although the army had seemed such an insignificant number for the grave threat which faced Ferelden, it now seemed far too many. Without the aerial defence, those left outside the city walls would have to fend for themselves against the fate of a brutal death.

Alfstanna primed her bow for her next shot and gave an expectant look to the archer beside her. As the man followed her lead and the man next to him followed his, she turned back to Leliana.

"Once the arrows are spent then you must seek out the King. The Grey Warden will require his assistance."

The Bard gave a short nod and her voice surged forth again as the order was given for the men to use all arrows at their disposal. Denerim could offer no further aid to its army after this. But due to the intervention of both the archers and the Redcliffe men, the elves and mages were moving ever closer to the gates. The arrows rained down behind the group while the soldiers cut a path through the darkspawn ahead of them. As the arrows grew increasingly sparser, the last of the group were all that was visible from the line of sight offered by the battlements.

Screams, yells and screeches merged into one unintelligible din in courtyard behind as the fight began in earnest. The darkspawn which had spilled through the gates alongside the army were now attacking those around them. Alfstanna and Sighard started to order their men back down to the courtyard to aid with the hand to hand combat.

The noblewoman turned back towards Leliana and gave her a curt nod. "Good luck, Sister."

As Leliana bolted from her position towards the courtyard, Alfstanna trained her last arrow on the throng outside the city walls. She let the arrow fly with a murmured prayer.

"Maker protect you and yours."

* * *

><p>Alistair found himself swept along by the influx of soldiers and darkspawn through the gates of Denerim and into the inner courtyard of the city. All tactics had dissipated from the mix of men, elves and dwarves as hand to hand combat became a fight for survival in the chaos which ensued.<p>

He caught a glimpse of Morrigan off to one side with Wynne not far behind her. The older mage had kept her promise and was keeping close to the Witch, acting as a support to Morrigan's more aggressive spells. Sten and Riordan were also holding their own some way behind him but he was yet to catch sight of Oghren or Shale.

As various darkspawn launched at him, Alistair was forced to defend himself and allow the others to look to their own protection. Distracted as he was by the continual assault, he would have overlooked the figure of Leliana as she climbed down from the battlements of the city walls were it not for one small detail.

The woman was dressed in _Chantry_ _robes_.

It was one thing for her to believe the Maker had given specific direction to her life. It was quite another to believe His intervention extended to the defensive capacities of the robes of his disciples.

Ducking and weaving through the darkspawn, the rational part of his mind knew it was absurd to focus on such a trivial detail. He knew there would be a sufficient explanation why the Bard had chosen to abandon her armour. And not just any armour but the armour Elissa had spent months sourcing. He also reminded himself that this was the same woman who had kept her promise to him, had brought Elissa back and for that reason alone she would always hold a special place in his heart. But Maker as his witness, he surely had enough to contend with at the moment without having to account for Leliana's damned eccentricities.

As the Bard jumped down from the ladder, he saw as she turned to survey the commotion around her. She made to move in a general direction but staggered and her hands flew to her head as her expression became a grimace. He realised it was a reaction to her rogue senses becoming overwhelmed by being immersed in the fighting.

Alistair began to force his way towards her as her robes marked her out to more than just him. He broke into a run as he saw the hurlock advance on her from behind. Hacking at anything which got in his way, his focus narrowed so that all he could see was the red-haired woman seemingly too far from him. No longer intent on killing the darkspawn around him, he strove to reach her before any harm could come to her.

The mace was already flying in an arc towards her head as he slammed into the hurlock with his shield, sliding on the ground already slick with blood and gore. Deflecting any remaining force from the creature's weapon with his shield, he followed through with his sword and sliced through its stomach. Gathering his footing once more, he kicked at the thing and forced it to stagger backwards and away from them. Satisfied it was too severely injured to attempt another assault, Alistair whirled round to check on Leliana.

Relief at no obvious signs of injury on the woman manifested itself in an uncontrollable burst of anger. He loomed over her as he spat the question. "Chantry robes? Really?"

Leliana blinked at him with no hint of recognition as she glanced between the dying hurlock and the indistinguishable armoured soldier in front of her. She seemed more bemused than intimidated by his behaviour. With an impatient grunt, Alistair partially sheathed his sword before wrenching his helmet from his head. He chucked it on the ground and fixed an accusatory glare on her, still intent on gathering an explanation for her current clothing.

It took only a brief second for the Bard to gather her thoughts at the unexpected appearance of the very man she was seeking. Without warning she threw her arms around his neck even bathed in sweat as it was and kissed him full on the mouth. Alistair staggered backwards from the momentum with which she flung herself at him before shooting her a dirty if cross-eyed look as they came to a stop almost nose to nose. Leliana let out an infectious giggle and he felt his fury, rational or otherwise, evaporate. And despite being surrounded as they were by death and destruction, he felt a grin spread across his face. He wrapped his arms around her as best he could and kissed her cheek in return before he steadied her back onto her feet.

There was a familiar mischievous glint in her eye as she finally responded to his question. "Just as the Maker brought me to you when you needed me most, his robes brought you to me when I needed you most."

Alistair gave her another dirty look as he shoved her behind him and grabbed for his sword to defend them both against a genlock. It was a suitable distraction because the question he really wanted to ask he found himself unable to voice for fear of the answer it might bring. But with the genlock following the same fate of the hurlock, a simple look back at Leliana was enough. The sense of playful fun vanished from her expression as she translated the question in his gaze. "Zevran is watching over her in the Chantry. She needs Wynne."

He could hear the unspoken implication in the Bard's words. He picked up the darkspawn blade that had had fallen at his feet and pushed it into her hand, doubting very much that even as talented a rogue as Leliana was capable of hiding much weaponry under those robes. He hustled her close to his side so that she was better protected as well as obscured by his shield before searching through the confusion around him. Although the darkspawn numbers were becoming fewer, it was also apparent that the army had not escaped unscathed. Fewer casualties than he had feared when first looking out across the Horde, it was impossible not to notice the numbers he led were much reduced. Most noticeable was the conspicuous absence of Shale although he could now spy Oghren towards the far end of the courtyard. Alistair brushed aside the lurch in his stomach. Reflection and soul-searching on fallen comrades was an indulgence he could ill-afford at this time. For the moment, it only mattered that he found the mage and apostate. At last his eyes settled on Wynne, still working in tandem with Morrigan near the gates.

But before he could guide Leliana in their direction, Riordan intercepted him. The Senior Warden was breathing heavily and spattered with blood. His agitation seeped through his body language even while he maintained his normal reticent expression.

"Alistair. The gates will not hold. We need to push through the city."

"Give me a minute..."

"There is no time!" the older Warden gritted his teeth, his patience frayed beyond repair. "Can you sense them?"

"Them?"

"The Generals." A quick check of Alistair's blank expression confirmed Riordan's suspicions that the younger Warden had no idea. "There are two Generals helping to coordinate the attack within the city. The walls must have been breached elsewhere while our attention was kept on the gates."

Alistair felt as Leliana tensed under his arm and in an instant he knew the location of at least one of the Generals.

"The marketplace?" he asked only for confirmation.

"And the Alienage, as far as I can tell," Riordan rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. "They have to be defeated before an attack can be made on the Archdemon."

"Zevran mentioned ogres," Leliana murmured to Alistair causing him to swear under his breath. He was so close to finding his way back to Elissa that he was damned if _ogres_ were going to stop him now.

Riordan overheard the curse and saw the look which passed between Bard and younger Warden. Memories of long past whispers in the night, long forgotten caresses, long dissipated warmth from another body over-rode the Senior Warden's better judgement. There may have been truth in Wynne's warnings but Alistair deserved the chance to make right what he still seemed to see as his wrong. It made little difference which General was defeated by whom and the desire to lay waste to all that stood between him and Elissa which was plainly written across Alistair's face would be as good an incentive than anything else Riordan could offer.

"I will accompany Sten and a small group to the Alienage," the Senior Warden announced. "While Sten is distracting the General, I will press on and attempt to disable the Archdemon. You take the Marketplace and then head for Fort Drakon. I will bring the creature down on the rooftop and we will fight it there."

Alistair nodded and without the distraction of a further separation from Elissa, he regained his ability for strategic thought. "If there are ogres near the marketplace then I'll take the dwarves."

"I will take the elves. They may inspire further support amongst their own people," Riordan also gave a nod in agreement.

"The Redcliffe men and Circle mages can remain with the City Guard for the moment."

"We will leave instructions that they respond to a summons if needed," Riordan clasped the younger Warden by the shoulder and gave him a small shake. "Good luck. Remember, the rooftop."

"The rooftop," Alistair echoed before Riordan turned away from him, shouting in the direction of the nearest elves.

Neither Grey Warden faltered as each went to his separate fate.


	19. Origins: Chapter 19

The route Alistair took through the streets of Denerim to the marketplace was direct. He made no pretence that he was headed anywhere else. Yet as he led his small contingent of dwarves and human women through the gates of the marketplace, the area was apparently empty. He made to round the corner of the support wall when he felt something pulling at his arm.

He turned with an impatient reprimand on the tip of his tongue but swallowed it as Leliana shook her head at him, her frown indicating that her rogue senses had revealed what he was unable to see. The constant presence of darkspawn throughout the city made his own premonition of the tainted creatures almost useless. The Bard held a finger against her lips and indicated that the group hold position behind the wall while she scouted ahead.

Alistair nodded and she skirted ahead of them, careful to keep close to walls and shadows as she crept along. Even dressed in those Chantry robes, had he not been so intent on watching her then he would not have noticed her so fluidly did she move. There was a lightness of step that reminded him of Elissa. Clearly the two women had exchanged battle techniques.

Leliana passed from view and he felt his heart leap into his mouth. Maker knew he had quite enough women to be concerned about without adding the Bard to the list.

Behind him, Oghren gave a grunt of annoyance as he muttered to himself. The other dwarves also seemed restless from the enforced stop. Unused to anything other than a direct assault on their enemry, their agitation began to transfer to the humans. Alistair recognised the anxiety he felt in himself reflected in the fidgeting of Wynne's fingers around her staff and Morrigan's darkening expression.

"What are we sodding waiting for?" Oghren demanded at last. His only acknowledgement of the situation was to lower his voice to a dull roar.

"Quiet, dwarf! Would you have us all massacred?" Morrigan snarled.

"Heh. Just let the Blighters try it," he grinned.

Alistair snorted just as Leliana reappeared into line of sight at the end of the wall. She motioned for Alistair to come and join her while the rest stayed where they were. Making sure he tread in her exact footsteps, together they snuck past the entrance to the Chantry and various abandoned buildings until they were nearer to the far side of the marketplace. Crouching behind various barrels and crates, he was in a better position to view what he was up against.

Zevran had been right. Ogres. And a Hurlock Alpha General at their centre issuing commands. As he watched, the creatures began to demonstrate the same sense of agitation he had seen in his own followers. Realising that the creatures were capable of isolating the nearness of his taint even if he was unable to do the same, he curled a hand around Leliana's wrist and scuttled back from their vantage point towards the gates.

As he returned, it was clear from the reaction of those waiting that his expression had betrayed him.

"That bad, eh lad?" Oghren raised an eyebrow.

Alistair resisted the urge to allow his head to sink into his hands and instead settled for rubbing at his eyes. So close. How could he be so close and yet as far as he had ever been from her?

"Here, lad," Oghren shifted from foot to foot. "I've never gone into a battle sober but by the stone, if we wait much longer that's exactly what I will be." The statement was accompanied by raucous guffaws. Oghren grinned at his brethren. "We'll take them straight to the Void, won't we boys?" The guffaws turned into a general consensus of unsavoury comments and grunted cheers. Oghren looked back at Alistair. "So you see to your woman. We'll see to the nugging ogres."

A simple show of loyalty tinted with a heartfelt sentiment that came from the least likely of places. It was enough to shock Alistair from his indecision. Such loyalty had to be reciprocated even if it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"A barrel of your finest ale that I get to the General before you," he taunted Oghren. "Far side of the marketplace. I'll even give you a headstart."

The dwarf roared with laughter. "Done."

With the movement of the dwarves causing a distraction, the humans splintered off towards the entrance to the Chantry with Alistair intent that he would at least see them safely in the building. As he came to a halt in the small yard in front of the Chantry doors, Wynne continued past him without a word.

"Tis foolish to expect to reach the Archdemon alone," Morrigan stopped at his side. "You will need assistance."

"You have offered enough assistance."

The words were clumsy but with Leliana so near and time so short, he could think of no other way to express himself. The Witch narrowed her eyes as she attempted to work out whether there was a hidden jibe in his comment.

"Just make sure that no harm comes to Elissa," he didn't flinch as he met her glare. "And if that isn't possible then leave. Do you understand, Morrigan?"

They stood only inches from one another and yet at his question, she titled her head to one side and studied him with an intentness that contradicted her usual aversion to looking at him at all. Despite himself, he let out an impatient growl at her continued audacity towards him. He was ordering the Witch to do what they both knew she wanted and yet it seemed the opportunity to disobey him was one she could not overlook. With Elissa so close, Alistair no longer had the patience to endure Morrigan's continued distrust of him or his actions especially when those actions were of best benefit to the Witch.

Both Wynne and Leliana stopped as the standoff between King and Witch threatened to escalate. But as Alistair continued to hold his ground, it was Morrigan who broke the tension. She took a half step backwards and dipped her head in what he took to be a nod. Too far to suggest fealty, it was enough to soothe the anger which threatened to overspill from him.

"Thank you." This time he succeeded in matching both tone and words with the genuine feeling of gratitude he felt towards her. No matter their own relationship, their loyalty to Elissa bound them together.

With as bad a grace as she ever had towards him, Morrigan retraced her step and he felt her palm something into his hand.

"For the child," was the cryptic message she left him with as she abruptly turned and moved to join Wynne who was paused at the Chantry doors.

As he glanced down at the ring which rested in the palm of his gauntlet, he made to call after the Witch. The unexpected sentimentality caused warning bells to ring in his head. What need was there for what he assumed was an enchanted ring if the child was near? As he contemplated the significance of Morrigan's gesture, the sound of the clash of swords and the battle cry of the dwarves ripped him from his train of thought. Vibrations travelled through the ground and caused both Alistair and Leliana to stagger as their centre of gravity was disrupted. The dwarves had engaged the ogres.

As Leliana gathered her balance, he saw the conflict on her face as her eyes darted between the direction of the battle and the two mages waiting for her.

He spared a warm smile for her as her gaze settled onto him. "I didn't stop you before and I won't now. Go."

Tactile as ever, the Bard launched herself at him but this time he was prepared for her reaction. As they clung to one another, he murmured in her ear. "If anything happens to me then promise me you will look after her, Leliana."

It took so long for her to answer that he wondered if he had said the wrong thing. But as he heard the catch in her throat, he realised she was trying to control herself. "Always."

Alistair squeezed her close. "And Morrigan. She will not make it easy but please."

Leliana pulled back from him and her own expression mirrored Morrigan's earlier one. With narrowed eyes and a frown darkening her face, she searched his own for an answer to a question she was unable to speak. But eventually she placed a hand against his cheek and nodded. "So many dark secrets and lies. It is fortunate I know you to be a good man, Alistair Theirin."

"Go," he repeated as he disentangled her arms from around him.

The Bard turned and ran to the other women. Alistair stayed only long enough to see all three slip through the doors of the Chantry before running towards the sounds of the battle. The small comfort that those he cared most for were safe was mitigated by the knowledge that they continued to be so only for as long as he and the dwarves were able to stand.

As he dodged the last of the ruined market stalls, the sight which greeted him was as encouraging as it was hopeless. The clarity with which Oghren shouted his orders to the dwarves scattered around him made it almost impossible to believe that he was in fact drunk. To be surrounded by so many who embodied the talents of a Berserker and Champion was in itself a boost. Yet with each ogre that was defeated, two more arrived to take its place. The General was summoning all to its aid and the dwarves were close to being outnumbered and out-manoeuvred.

Alistair saw his chance and took it, dodging the giant hands which now lunged towards him. Desperation at the situation saw all semblances of tactics dissipate.

"Oghren!" he hollered in the direction of the dwarf as he slipped and slid his way towards his intended target.

The dwarf jerked his head up, wrenching his axe from where it had become wedged in the skull of one of the ogres.

"Ale!" Alistair prayed that Oghren would not forget such a precious wager even in the heat of battle and the inference contained in the single word.

His heart was lifted by the partial response he was able to make out through the surrounding commotion.

"Bloody Blighter..."

Slashing at whatever came within reach, Alistair scrambled ever closer towards the General. His focus narrowed into tunnel vision as he became intent on his target. Too late he realised the General had made a pre-emptive strike and the ricochet of its war-cry knocked Alistair off his feet.

Winded, he sprawled on the ground as the shadow of the General fell across his face. With a grunt, the creature stamped a foot onto his chest and pinned him to the ground. The eerie echo of its laugh resonated off the stone buildings as the creature raised its sword. Alistair found himself hypnotised by the glint of light as the blade was poised above his neck and the creature made to drive it into his throat.

* * *

><p>Leliana moved quickly through the corridors as Wynne and Morrigan followed at her heels. The Bard called out Zevran's name as she went, aware that the stone walls would deaden the sound but intent that she prevent the panicked responses she herself had so narrowly avoided at Zevran's arrival.<p>

As she rounded the last corner in the corridor which led to the Revered Mother's room, she saw that the door to the small room was closed. Whether it was closed from when she had left or not, she was unable to tell. The two mages were close behind her but Leliana grabbed at the door handle before they could snatch the opportunity away from her. No matter what was contained in the room, she would not be deprived from being the first to see it. She had spent too long alone with Elissa to allow any other to steal the knowledge of the woman's fate from her.

Yet as Leliana pushed at the door, heavier than she remembered, she felt her throat constrict and the last call of Zevran's name died in her mouth. But as the door scrapped across the stone floor, the sight of Zevran rising from the chair beside the bed where he had been keeping vigil was among one of the most welcome she had ever seen. He had made a makeshift sling from some of the bedding to better support his still broken arm so that it would not hinder him from the task she had entrusted him with. The dagger rested in his good hand and the casualness with which he held it contradicted the easy skill with which he was able to put it to use even injured as he was.

Morrigan gave a curse as Wynne pushed past both Witch and Bard towards Elissa lying in the bed.

Zevran dutifully moved away to allow the healer greater access to the bed and joined Leliana and Morrigan as they hovered at the base of the bed.

"Are you alright?" Leliana murmured to him.

"Yes. I am glad you made it before our darkspawn friends."

"There is time yet for their arrival," Morrigan muttered, her gaze fixed on Wynne as she appointed herself as overseer to the mage's actions.

Leliana and Zevran fell silent as they followed the Witch's stare. Wynne had thrown the sheets from Elissa's body and her hands hovered over the woman, racing across the prone figure as if searching out key areas that were invisible to the small group of onlookers. As she worked, the mage's expression remained consistent with only a small frown of concentration breaking her otherwise impassive appearance. If they had not known the extent of Elissa's injuries then it would have been a simple mistake to assume that Wynne was only intent on waking Elissa from a deep sleep.

As Wynne's gesture grew slower and she seemed to return again and again to the wound Leliana knew was in the Warden's shoulder, the Bard asked the question. "Can you heal her?"

The elder mage did not answer for a few moments as she continued to stare intently down at her patient. In truth, it had not taken her long to discover how close to death Elissa was. Neither had it taken her much time to realise what was required to bring the woman back from the brink. Leliana had spoken more truthfully than she realised when she had told Alistair that the Warden would need the mage's skill.

Promises ran through her head. She was faced with a choice that neither she nor Alistair had ever imagined would occur. And yet she had still been right. It was not his choice to make. It was hers.

Wynne blinked and raised her head to look at the others. The answer was as much a response to Leliana as it was to her own question. "Yes."

"How can we help?" Leliana asked.

"I will need..." the mage cast her eye around the room as if seeking out the relevant necessities when in fact only one was required. "More water. And cloths." She debated what else a Chantry may have within its walls which would give enough time for her to complete her healing without interference. "And wine."

"Wine?" Morrigan raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Tis not a common requirement for such healing."

"Are you familiar with such extensive healing, dear?" Years of experience of dealing with petulant young Circle mages had proven to be excellent training for belligerent young Witches.

"I know where there is wine. I will bring it all to you," Leliana interrupted, turning for the door.

"Take Morrigan," Wynne ordered, more hastily than she had intended. "We do not know if there are darkspawn hiding in the rooms."

"What about Zevran?" Leliana paused as Morrigan made to protest at being instructed about like one of the healer's students.

Wynne eyed the elf. He returned the look with one of his own unblinking ones. "He may remain with me. I will see to his injuries."

The Bard nodded and shot a warning look at Morrigan. With a brief glance back at Elissa, the Witch capitulated without further protest and followed Leliana from the room.

Zevran cocked an eyebrow at the mage in front of him. "Wine?"

Wynne gave a wry smile. "I am quite certain that at least one of you may require the restoring benefits of wine shortly."

"What shall I tell them?" The elf did not attempt to dissuade her from her decision.

In respect of his acceptance, the mage did not waste time enquiring how he had worked out her true intent. "Nothing."

"As you wish." He moved to the opposite side of the bed from Wynne. Perching on the edge of it, he placed the dagger on the sheets beside him.

"There is more damage here than is any healer's power to restore," the mage warned. "All I can give is life. She must find her own purpose."

Zevran gave a nod. "I understand."

Wynne drew in a deep breath and gathered all her concentration. As she centred herself, she felt the presence of the Spirit within her as she called forth the full extent of its power. She spread her hands and held them over Elissa's body. The glow beneath them grew brighter and brighter until it was impossible for Zevran to look at them. As the mage channelled the healing, the heat in the room began to rise until it was almost unbearable. The elf could feel beads of sweat form at the base of his neck. All of a sudden, with no hint of sound, there was an explosion of light and warmth which engulfed the whole room as the mage was no longer able to control the magic surging through her.

Caught in the aftermath, Zevran felt the shards of his broken arm knit together under his skin. The various wounds, aches and pains all melted away as the healing magic soaked into every pore of his being. Blinded by the blast of light, he was unable to do much else except scrabble towards where he knew Elissa lay. Finding her hand still lying on the bedding, he gripped it in his own and waited.

As the magic ebbed from the room, dissipating into nothingness, there was an instant of silence before the thud of Wynne's body as it hit the floor.

In the next moment, the sound of a blood curdling shriek from the woman lying in the bed filled the air.

* * *

><p>Alistair did not have the words to explain it. One moment and yet once it passed, he could only describe the change through its very presence. It was as though he had found something that he had been still to realise was missing but on discovering it, could never imagine a time when he did not know it. His control over the taint had always been basic at best and his constant presence at Elissa's side had negated the desire to improve that control. But as he lay pinned on the ground and faced with the sight of what would be his own killing blow, Alistair clearly heard the sound of the taint within Elissa join once more with the chattering racket at the back of his head.<p>

Whatever else had happened, she was alive.

The sword above his head faltered as the General also discovered the revived song of the second Grey Warden. In that brief second, Alistair heaved himself to the side as Oghren's axe swung in an arc and caught the General in the back. With a well-practiced roll, Alistair found his feet and whirled round with shield and sword at the ready. Oghren had already drawn his weapon back for another blow and as the dwarf poured all of his strength into it, Alistair stepped forward so that the General became impaled on the Warden's sword. Wrenching the weapon from the creature, he overpowered it with his shield and before it could even hit the ground Oghren's axe was buried deep in its throat.

Panting from the effort, Alistair made to turn to the Chantry but the shadow which passed across the marketplace caused both Grey Warden and dwarves to look skyward. The Archdemon was twisting and turning in mid-air with a screech that rang in both Alistair's ears and through his blood. Drawn as it had been from the sky by the restored call of the taint in Elissa, Riordan had seized his opportunity and succeeded in using the distraction to his advantage. Alistair could just about make out the Senior Warden's form as he precariously hung onto the dragon's back. As the creature rolled through the air, it began to gain height over Denerim so that Alistair had to shield his eyes to keep track of it. He watched as it collided with one of the towers before there was a lurch in its flight and another screech. As it tumbled back through the sky, it became clear that Riordan had succeeded in hurting the creature. Seeking out the highest rooftop, it dove onto the top of Fort Drakon as they had planned. As Alistair lost sight of the creature, he could only hope that Riordan had somehow survived the fall.

He looked back to his own fight. With the General no longer coordinating the battle, the ogres were disorientated and unfocused. The dwarves were making light work of killing those who remained. A flash of red and the stench of Maker knew what Oghren was encrusted in reassured Alistair that the dwarf was unharmed.

"You owe me a barrel of ale!" Alistair found himself yelling in the general direction of the flash. Relief at his own survival as well as Elissa's banished his melancholy for the moment.

Oghren glanced up to see the man standing stock still as chaos continued around him. He grunted as he hacked at yet another ogre. "Sodding Wardens! Take all the glory and do none of the work! You owe me a barrel, pike-twirler!"

The pike-twirling Grey Warden to whom the insult was thrown merely grinned. As the dwarves dealt with the last ogre, Alistair continued to evade his workload and looked back around the marketplace. As close as he had been to doing it, he could not trust himself to return to the Chantry. He knew if he found himself at her side once again then he would not be strong enough to leave it, duty or otherwise. The Archdemon had been brought down. He could not waver now.

It was enough to know she was alive.

Reassured that the marketplace was empty of any further significant threat, Alistair issued a rapid succession of orders to his group. He directed the dwarves towards the steps leading out from the district and towards the Fort while issuing a summons that those who had been left at the city gates were to join them immediately.

And all the while, her song resonated throughout his heart and soul.

* * *

><p><em>I hereby nominate myself for <em>_the__ cheesiest line to end a chapter on!  
>... But it had to be done ;)<br>_


	20. Origins: Chapter 20

Elissa's eyes flew open as she heard the shriek but did not realise that it was her own. She blinked but could make no sense of what she saw.

She could remember nothing save vague glimpses of nightmares. Twisted and dark, there had been no coherence to them and yet she remained aware that they had played out across her subconscious. Amid the shadows and threats, a pair of glowing eyes had remained throughout as they stared deep into her soul.

An instinct told her to reach out, her hand seeking comfort from she knew not what. She found a responding hand which found hers and squeezed tight. But her heart told her it was not the hand she wanted and the real nightmare began to take hold.

_Chantry. Denerim. Injured._

The noises filtered through the haze which enveloped her mind. Noises spoken by a voice she had not expected to be the first she heard.

_Darksapwn. Horde. Archdemon._

Yet more words which held little meaning. This place was strange and there was nothing here which she sought. Perhaps it was better to return to the nightmares. Alone and frightened, at least she would find...

_Alistair_.

Her hand tensed involuntarily as she found she recognised the name but was still to find a memory which belonged to it. The hand which held hers mirrored the reaction.

There were more words now although the sounds did not filter any further into her comprehension. As she drifted on the edges of consciousness, she heard the symphony contained within the voices which now spoke around her. The low timbre of one; the trickling musicality of the other and both punctuated by the precision of the one nearest to her. As she listened, she discovered she was searching beyond the trio for a fourth. There was no reason to do so save that its absence triggered a sense of dread deep within.

_Sister._

Low and urgent, the word was spoken as if a gift. It was accompanied by another squeeze of her hand.

_Must wake._

She heard as the tone changed and the grip tightened. She sensed that there was something to be fearful of. But no, that was not true. The fear was intended for her. The voice was fearful for her.

_For his sake._

Glimpses of nightmares changed to flashes of memories and fragments crowded into her mind, mingling and merging into one. She stiffened as the unknown faces blended into abhorrent combinations and the images were accompanied by disembodied whispers that she could not make sense of. There was a growing sense of dismay as she felt her mind near some end point she was yet to remember. Buckling under the torment, she was torn between allowing the memories to push her further into consciousness and allowing the darkness to overwhelm her once more.

But as the memories began to surface more fluidly, the darkness and its respite faded further away. She began to recognise the sights as places. A castle on a hill. _Redcliffe_. A Tower in a lake. _The Circle of Magi_. Tunnels. Caverns. Never ending and all with the stench of death. _Orzammar._

She heard the sound of whimpering and it dawned on her that she was making the noise.

Within seconds, a cool hand pressed against her foreheard.

_Dear one_.

A different voice now but she recognised a familiarity to it that she had been unable to make out before. All three were familiar. She knew them; remembered feeling at ease with them. Yet there was others she found herself longing to hear and still one in particular. She felt herself quieten as she strained to catch its tone amid the growing terror that there was a rejection implicit in its absence.

_Safe_.

She understood the meaning of the word but knew it was a lie. She did not feel safe and she knew that she had not felt safe in a long time. And by their association with her, she knew that they were not safe. She brought danger to all those around her. Brief moments of memories exploded in her head. Battles and fights. She saw herself as protector. Protector to those who now spoke to her.

She felt herself flinch as her mind resisted being probed further. Even as it caused her pain, she continued to probe the memories in an effort to grasp greater clarity. The missing voice. She had failed to protect the missing voice. The one who meant most to her and the one who had been betrayed the most. Betrayed by others and then finally her. That was why it was missing. The voice was angry at her. He. He was angry at her.

_Loved_.

She knew that word and understood the feeling it referred to. She had been loved. Hurt clawed at her heart. She searched for the reciprocating feeling that she too loved. It was there but encased in shame and guilt. Disturbing it again caused it to billow up and she felt it settle over her like a fine and inescapable dust. Guilt that she was weak. Guilt that she was a coward. Guilt that she had consented to a price that was not hers to agree.

The sudden intake of breath was as startling to her as the sound of her own scream.

Elissa blinked again and the faces of the voices snapped into focus. _Morrigan. Leliana. _She turned her head to glance at who she now knew the third voice belonged to. _Zevran._ Her gaze flickered around the room, searching him out in the hope that she had been mistaken. But no, he was not there. Alistair was not there.

And then, she remembered.

* * *

><p>The darkspawn corpses littered one of the many inner courtyards of Fort Drakon as Alistair continued on his assault of the Fort. Sten and the elves had already engaged the first defences by the time Alistair and the dwarves had reached the rendezvous point. The Qunari had pushed on ahead through the Fort while Alistair remained behind to wait for the mages and Redcliffe men.<p>

He was now only following the trail of destruction left by the troops ahead of him. More importantly, under Sten's experienced hand their own casualties were being kept to a minimum. Alistair had long since stopped picking up his feet for the darkspawn corpses but he made a point of showing respect to those of his own who had fallen.

As he made to dodge around the decapitated body of an elven archer, he felt a hand close around his ankle. Yanking it free, he shrank back with weapon raised before he recognised the broken form of the man lying on the ground and half obscured beneath a darkspawn corpse.

With a practiced movement Alistair sheathed both sword and shield and, trusting to the men at his back to defend against any surge in darkspawn, he grabbed at the neck of the foul creature and hauled it off of the man. Alistair knelt down at his side, a reassuring hand gently pushing him back against the ground so that he lay easier.

"Riordan."

The Senior Warden flinched at the unexpected touch of another human and the sound of whistling could be heard as he struggled to draw a deep breath.

"Easy," Alistair murmured, glancing back over his shoulder. He flagged one of the Redcliffe men to him. "Find any of the Circle mages with healing abilities."

The man gave a short nod and broke into a run back in the direction they had come from. Alistair tuned back to the Warden.

"No!" the man began coughing at the exertion of the exclaimation. The gurgling sound as he struggled to breathe through the fluid in his lungs was difficult to bear. "Too...late."

"There's no harm in letting them try!"

Riordan shook his head as he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "C...Calling."

"It doesn't matter!" Alistair heard the desperation in his own voice. "There's still work to be done. In case you hadn't noticed, there's a bloody Archdemon up there!"

Riordan panted a little and the younger Warden realised the man was chuckling.

"Well, I suppose you know that already..." Alistair kept his tone light even as he gave a frantic glance over his shoulder but there was no sign of any of the mages. Perhaps speaking as though the Senior Warden had only a scratch would distract them both from the severity of his injuries.

But when he turned back, Riordan simply held out his arm to him. Tugging off his gauntlet and throwing it to the ground, Alistair gripped it at the elbow as the brothers in arms they were.

He watched as the man made a conscious effort to draw in as much air as possible. With a steadfast gaze and firm voice, he tightened his grasp. "In war, victory."

"In peace, vigilance."

There was a wry smile on Riordan's face as he spoke the final line, clapping his other hand over Alistair's shoulder. "In death, sacrifice."

The sight of the man in front of him looking his fate in the eye without hesitation caused an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Alistair's stomach. Selfish as it was, he could not help but wonder if when his time came he would be able to be so resolute. It seemed he had already bartered his integrity and now here he was, offering comfort to his superior safe in the knowledge that his own sacrifice was no longer called for. He did not regret doing what had to be done to protect Elissa and nor did he regret that he would have a son, dark magic or otherwise. But holding Riordan's arm and watching as the rise of the man's chest grew more laboured, he regretted not having the strength to face his own death. The same strength Riordan was showing now. The strength Duncan had always had.

Alistair continued to kneel beside the Senior Warden. Even as the grip of the other man began to slacken, Alistair held firm and took the strain so that the connection between them was not broken. The breaths became more ragged and the sound of a man slowly suffocating filled his ears. He remained stock still, intent that the Senior Warden would not spend his last few moment alone but in the company of one who considered him a friend. Maker knew, he would not allow Riordan to die in the same manner as Duncan.

He felt a long overdue tap on his shoulder and turned his head to find one of the healing mages behind him. He hesitated before jerking his head in dismissal. There was little point in condemning a man to the fate of the Calling when he had already earned the title of hero.

The group of men and mages were agitated, keen to keep moving but Alistair ignored them all. Even when he knew Riordan had fully lost consciousness, he remained where he was. It was only when the man's chest failed to rise and the tension ebbed from his body that Alistair finally released his hold.

He fumbled in his mind for the words he should have known from his days in the Chantry. In the end he was forced to settle for his own variant and prayed the Maker would overlook his lapse in favour of the soul of the man it was intended to honour.

"May Andraste guide your spirit to the side of the Maker."

Alistair got to his feet and pulling his gauntlet back onto his hand, flexed his fingers to ensure it was fitted correctly. With a single shout, he ordered his soldiers onwards and they headed towards yet another staircase.

He did not look back.

* * *

><p>She remembered.<p>

Turning her stare back to the two women standing over her, the Bard and Witch saw the recognition appear on her face and she saw the hope rekindle on theirs.

Its presence was a knife to her heart.

Her gaze dropped. The body of Wynne lay crumpled on the floor. She studied it without comment but seeing her so fixated, they were quick to remove it from the room. Their hushed tones and secretive looks were enough for her to realise that she had been the cause of the mage's death.

More blood to add to her hands.

She knew the thought should upset her. The loss of a friend should be marked by a tear, a sigh... _something_. But she could find no response forthcoming. Instead, there was only the realisation that there was no escape.

She could not escape.

From what, she was no longer sure. Perhaps there was too much. But she was certain that what she had become was not what she should have been. Perhaps that was the answer; herself. A Cousland who had abandoned her duty towards her country. A Grey Warden who had refused to honour the price those much greater than her had so willingly paid. And a lover who valued her own life more than anything else.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. Perhaps this was her punishment. It was a fitting one if it was. Faced to confront her own failings, she now had to bear the humiliation that those she held most dear were also aware of those weaknesses. What was worse was the misplaced faith which still existed on their faces as they looked to her. Their forgiveness, unasked for and not sought, was a cruel agony.

She had done them a disservice. Her arrogance borne of breeding had blinded her to her limitations. Her overconfident self-assurance and untested self-belief had led her to believe that she was a natural born leader. There had been no evidence to doubt otherwise. And in her conceitedness, she had mistaken their growing dependency on her as proof of her sound leadership. It was not until too late when she realised that reliance on a sole person was a flawed concept. But by then the damage had been done and she was forced to continue even knowing the strain that each new request brought on her.

They deserved better than her.

She was not strong enough. She knew that now. But she could see as they continued to fuss around her that they were yet to realise the fact. Their hope, faith and forgiveness were all proof that they could not see her for what she was. An illusion manifested through the reputation carried in her blood. It was they who had the strength; not her.

As the full extent of her disgrace washed over her, she wished for an end. She wanted it all to end. And yet her own actions had deprived her of even that relief. While her eyes remained dry, she took comfort from the hurt caused by her heart breaking as she allowed her thoughts to finally acknowledge him.

He deserved better than her.

Her head rolled on the pillow and she found herself staring up at the Witch. Morrigan caught the look and found the eyes which were raised to her as empty. It was as though the Witch was staring into an abyss.

She leant down to whisper in the Warden's ear. "I never intended to cause you such pain. For that, I am truly sorry."

The pain was still there and the words were of no comfort. The pain mingled with her disgrace and she wished again that it could just all end. That she could send Morrigan away and face the creature alone. She would take the killing blow and it would be finished. But there was no guarantee that it would be her to take the blow. And she would not risk endangering Alistair. His deliverance was conceived of her betrayal and she would not take it from him, no matter the doubts which still swarmed her mind. There had to be another way.

As thoughts tumbled through her head, she felt the beginnings of a plan form. She could feel that she did not have the strength to offer much assistance in defending Ferelden but perhaps she could begin to right the wrong she had committed. It was surely better to seek out death than wishing for death to come. And if she should survive it all and the task was completed then no one would notice a simple lapse of judgement. Disorientation from the enormity of what had been achieved. A loss of footing. And then she would find peace.

She glanced up at the Witch, still hovering above her head, and gave her a smile. Sitting up, she reached out for Leliana. The Bard pulled her close and she outstretched an arm to draw Zevran into the embrace. They were dear friends who had offered her more than she could ever return. Her fool's understanding of her role had meant she had never revealed the depth of her heart to any of them. But in that moment she was grateful that they could not realise it. She had no wish to cause further pain; she only wished to end her own. Her time was near and she could take comfort from the fact that none would stop her.

"One last battle," Elissa murmured. "And then we can all rest."


	21. Origins: Chapter 21

_One last battle._

Yet every step she took was a battle in itself. The search for the next sure footing was a constant struggle, the commitment to each step became a leap of a faith and the sense of victory when that faith was rewarded was fleeting as the realisation hit her that there remained the next step to be taken. Always, the next. On and on.

Elissa allowed her gaze to flicker up towards the sight of Fort Drakon looming over the Palace District. She could hear _It_. Not quite words but the draw was unmistakeable. She felt a small part of her mind straining towards the noise. It frightened her in a way she would not have thought possible, despairing as she was. Yet throughout her whole journey, she had never experienced a desire to seek out the creature in the way she did now. She had always resisted its call but with her mental fortitude ebbing, she could feel the response of the taint within her acting as a lure and pulling her closer to it. There could be no benefit to such an attraction and yet whether she was killed by a lowly darkspawn grunt or the mighty Archdemon, it mattered little. The end goal was the same. So long as _he _was safe.

In between the call of the creature, she could hear the song of his taint. One lone song amongst many; it was quiet but steady. Its presence was another pull and although she did not deserve it, she welcomed that connection to him. She did not know if the strength and confidence she could sense through it was indeed his own or simply her belated realisation of the qualities he had always possessed. Regardless, it was there and its existence helped her to maintain the flawless rendition of the role she was performing. From him she took her motivation so that to those behind here, there seemed little doubt that here walked their Grey Warden once more.

The projection of his borrowed confidence was a necessity. Leliana had recoiled at the murmured words and it had taken all of Elissa's abilities of persuasion in addition to choice interjections from Zevran and Morrigan to convince the Bard to allow Elissa to leave the Chantry. It was not until, scrabbling for a reason other than the truth, Elissa had argued that her position as Grey Warden demanded that she stand shoulder to shoulder with her brothers-in-arms. The mention of Alistair and Riordan had been the key and the Bard had finally acquiesced to the mounting pressure. Unwilling to allow Leliana the opportunity to change her mind, Elissa had then declined the suggestion to search the Chantry for her armour and weapons and instead advocated sourcing such items en-route as she always had. But that decision had been met with rejections from all three of her companions and it was the Warden's turn to be compelled to wait while Leliana and Zevran used precious time rifling through the various rooms of the Chantry.

At last they had returned with her armour, still damaged at the shoulder but otherwise intact, and her blades. Leliana had already discarded her Chantry robes in favour of her own armour and bow. Bard and Witch had helped to ease her feeble body back into the pieces which had become a second skin over the months. But the gaping mouth of her boots around her calves and the looseness of her armour where once it had fitted snugly only served as reminders of the limits her actions had pushed her body. She did not doubt Leliana had done all she could but health potions and trickles of water were never intended to sustain the body on their own. The final addition of her two blades on her back had proven too much and she had staggered backwards, the nearness of the bed all that prevented her from toppling over entirely. As she fought to regain her feet in an effort to banish any further suggestion that she remain in the room she was coming to view as a prison, Leliana had leant forward and unsheathed the main blade from her back and placed it on the bed. With only the smaller off-hand blade to compensate for, Elissa was able to find her centre of gravity. She had glanced at Leliana with a faint blush colouring her cheeks but when the Bard made to open her mouth to express fresh concern at the Warden's capability to defend herself, Elissa had lowered the look. Striding to the door, she had left the companions to decide for themselves whether to follow or not.

Now, she was very aware that another show of her frailty would be excuse enough for Leliana to forcibly drag her back to cower in whatever bolthole the Bard could find. So even as it drained her reserves of energy further, Elissa maintained the charade. But as they passed through the Palace District and began the ascent of Fort Drakon, the truth was that Elissa was not leading so much as following the trail of darkspawn corpses. Each area was deserted, cleared by the army some way ahead of them and still to be retaken by the darkspawn who were trapped between repopulating the lower levels and guarding the rooftop. But as she moved through the Fort, she was becoming disorientated. Her previous visit had not leant itself to memorising floor plans, distracted as she had been by escaping Loghain's inevitable reprisal, and as she now travelled from first to second floor she began to lose her way. She stumbled through what looked like a library of sorts and entered into a small hall with two doors in opposite corners. There were no corpses here to guide her.

Elissa came to a halt in front of the first door to her right. Overwhelmed by what should have been a simple choice, she leant her head against the grain of the wood and allowed herself a few precious seconds to gather her fragmented thoughts as best she could. The others were not far behind her, their engrained routine causing them to drop behind her lead, and she felt the pressure to make the correct choice first time. She could not allow the Bard to see her concerns were justified. Elissa gritted her teeth as she tried to exile the shrill of _It_ to the back of her mind. So near as she was, its call seemed to be everywhere and reverberate through everything. The inescapable draw to it threatened to crush her without offering any assistance as to which direction she should turn. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to focus. She had led her companions through countless quests without direction; she could surely guide them to the rooftop of a Fort. Allowing the taint to act as a guide, she probed at what lay beyond the door she was leaning against. As far as she could tell, there was no tingling warning of darkspawn in the immediate vicinity.

_A dead end?_

Elissa turned away from the door and headed towards the second one. Once more, she made a demand on her unravelling mind as she forced herself to concentrate. This time the familiar sensation of the taint within individual creatures scratched at the back of her head. That seemed to make sense; the Archdemon would be surrounded by darkspawn. Her hand rested on the handle and she felt her despair lift for a brief moment. Perhaps this would end soon. Yet even as the welcome relief of the dark thought flooded through her, another reached out from the periphery of her mind.

_If the army has already passed through then why..._

Behind her, she heard as the others clattered through the adjoining room. The realisation of their nearness chased the thought from her to be replaced with a general sense of desperation. This door, it would have to be this door.

Passing through the open doorway from the library, Leliana caught sight of Elissa. At the sight of the Warden seemingly struggling against the door, she let out a small cry and made to break into a run. Elissa fumbled with the handle, fear clawing at her heart that she had left it too late to act. But the latch slid off the catch with a well-oiled ease and the door swung inwards. Surprised by the lack of resistance she had expected, Elissa stumbled forward into the leg hold trap placed just beyond the swing arc of the door.

The trap sprung tight around her leg and the steel teeth dug into her flesh. She let out a howl and dropped onto her other knee in an effort to remove the pressure from her trapped leg. A movement caught out of the corner of her eye caused her to jerk her head up. Sixteen darkspawn. In a row. And all with bows trained on her body. She had walked into a trap. The very trap Leliana had warned her against.

Staring at the darkspawn who would give her the release she craved, she found enough presence of mind to shout a warning to those following her.

"Stop!"

But their continued fidelity to her became their undoing. Ignoring the command, Morrigan cast a shimmering shield around herself and ran to the injured woman. She crouched against Elissa as the first arrows began to fly. Leliana took her position in the doorway and provided a distraction as Zevran flitted to the back of the room, supporting Leliana's aerial defence with a ground one.

With three times the initial target, the darkspawn lost their tenuous grasp of regimented fighting and their arrows found few marks. Morrigan fumbled with the trap at Elissa's leg while sparks of magic from the Hurlock Emissary commanding the archers rained down around her. Leliana and Zevran were making short work of the archers themselves and in a panic, the Emissary unleashed a fireball. Instinctively Elissa raised her arms to her face and she felt as the warmth of the fireball radiated against her skin. Having sensed the magical build-up as the spell was released into the room, Morrigan was already tensed and drew on the last of her mana to ensure her shield would protect both as the flames licked at her back.

The fire dissipated into the air and there was a brief moment of silence before Elissa heard a grunt from Zevran in the far corner of the room. He had escaped the full charge of the spell by being behind the Emissary although the shockwave had knocked him from his feet. She held her breath as she strained to hear a sound of life from Leliana behind her. Just beyond the door, there came a muffled groan. The Bard had thrown herself out into the hallway where she had escaped serious injury. The sound of a racing heartbeat and snatched breaths as Morrigan huddled over her was enough to reassure Elissa that the Witch too was unharmed.

"Quickly, Warden," Morrigan commanded as she succeeded in releasing the tension from the spring-loaded trap and it fell away from Elissa's leg.

Behind the Witch, Elissa could hear scrapping noises as the genlocks who had survived their own Emissary's attack crawled about the floor, searching out their dropped weapons. The whistle of arrows resumed as Leliana moved further into the room to allow Morrigan to pass behind her. The Bard focused on picking off any evidence of life which remained in the charred flesh of the creatures in front of her.

Morrigan hauled one of Elissa's arms around her shoulders while she slipped a supportive arm around the Warden's waist. Half cajoling and half dragging, she forced Elissa to stand. The jolt of pain which surged through her fractured leg caused it to give way and she fell back to the floor as Morrigan was unable to compensate for the unexpected pull of the Warden's full weight.

The Emisary gave a roar of frustration before there was a blinding flash of magic. Having instinctively curled into a ball as she fell against the floor, Elissa was unable to fight the survival instinct which her body blindly obeyed and she rolled to the side as the lightening forked through the room.

As the screams filled the air, she grabbed at the wall for support and forced herself to stand. Breathing hard, she looked towards the Emissary but even as she watched a knife appeared beneath its chin and there was a sickening sound as the flesh was slit and the blood gushed to the floor. The body made to fall backwards and with a lightness of step, Zevran moved to the side as it crashed to the floor. He turned his head and spat on the creature before turning his gaze towards Elissa. For a few moments, human and elf simply looked at one another.

Elissa broke the gaze first, shifting her weight so she could look at the scene behind her. Surrounded by defeated darkspawn and fallen comrades, it took a few seconds for the reality of the situation to sink in.

Leliana lay towards the centre of the room while the Witch was sprawled a little distance back. Both were still, save for the small shocks which caused their bodies to twitch even contorted as they were into unnatural shapes.

The numbness with which she had looked on Wynne's body resurfaced, protecting her from the impact of the truth. More blood on her hands; more culpability; more shame. She watched as Zevran approached Leliana, kicking and hauling bodies of darkspawn away from her as he did so. Elissa looked back to Morrigan. She knew it was a betrayal in itself but there seemed little point in examining either woman. The stench of charred flesh hung in the air and the echo of the screams of dying friends mingled with the scream of the Archdemon which still enveloped her. If any further proof was need, here it was. Death walked beside her.

She swallowed. Too many sacrifices. Of ideals; promises; friends. But not _him_. His song was still a beacon in the midst of her desolation. She would not let him be sacrificed. The strength of her conviction took her by surprise, over-riding her own desires. There was no reason to hesitate or doubt, her path was clear. Gathering the last of her stamina together, she made to push herself away from the support of the wall. As she did so, she felt as the call of the Archdemon seemed to shift. It seemed to be directed to her alone as if it sensed the new presence of the dark resolution in her heart. Elissa gritted her teeth and focused on that steady pulse of _him_. Ignoring the sight to her side and the knowledge that she should remain with those who had given all they had to be at her side, she took the first steps towards the doorway.

Zevran remained absorbed in examining Leliana. He had little healing skill but he recognised an injury when he saw it. He ignored the small shocks that travelled from her body to his as he touched her, rolling her onto her back so that he could better inspect the wound he had spied on the side of her face. One of the arcs of lightening had grazed across her face as it forked and whole of one side was now a raw mass of charred and blistering flesh. There was no sign that she was aware of the agony it must be causing.

The elf glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Elissa crouching over Morrigan but the room was empty. The Witch remained where she had fallen, untouched. Zevran started up, spinning round to take in the whole room but there was no mistake. She had left.

Having been caught in his own share of leg traps, he knew she could not have gone far with the injury she had sustained. Even without it, there was no great mystery as to where she would be headed. What was questionable was the apparent lack of soul searching it had taken for the Warden to abandon her companions. He was living proof that in her right mind, Elissa was loathe to turn her back on a potential ally and even more so treasured friends.

The unexpected sound of a weak groan distracted him from his thoughts and as he turned towards the noise, thoughts of chasing after the wayward Grey Warden vanished in favour of fulfilling her forgotten duty of caring for her friend.

**oOoOoOo**

Mental torment had been swapped for physical pain as Elissa forced herself to cover the remaining distance to the rooftop. Yet even as her leg dragged behind her and the shooting pain threatened to rob her of consciousness, she forced herself to continue onwards. Lurching from wall to wall as she struggled to find her balance or pace, she made no effort to hide the heavy panting as she gasped for air and she could feel a thin film of sweat cover her skin.

After an age, she entered into a large room and had to cover her eyes as the sudden emergence of daylight through the open door at the far end caused her to falter after the dimness of the Fort's corridors. Staggering towards it as her eyes struggled to adjust, she felt the twin calls supplementing her almost exhausted energy. _Him_ and _It_. There was little need to debate which was the stronger.

Raising her head as she stood before the doorway, Elissa committed herself to whatever lay beyond.


	22. Origins: Chapter 22

Striking out where necessary, rallying where needed, attacking and defending in equal measure; Alistair had complete control over the battlefield in front of him. He moved through the battle with a fluidity that spoke volumes as to how the past year had honed his skills with shield and sword. His tactics, together with the combined experience of Sten and Oghren, meant that the Archdemon was being pressed on all sides. The darkspawn defending it were being picked off with relative ease by the long-range fighters while the close combat troops were pressing home their advantage. The creature lunged at the front lines in an effort to break the ranks but was beaten back at each encounter. They were slowly but surely weakening it.

_She was near_.

Even as he shouted for Oghren to strengthen his ragged front line while ordering Sten to press forward, Alistair felt the crescendo of her single song resonate throughout his heart and mind. He spun round to face in the general direction but was unable to distinguish much beyond the immediate fringes of the battle save for the shambling silhouette of a lone figure towards the far end of the rooftop. In any other circumstance he would have passed over the sight but with the call of her taint in his head, there was no one else it could be.

"Warden, concentrate!" Sten bellowed behind him.

Alistair allowed his instinct to guide his weapon as he turned back to face the fray, blade striking out against the flesh of an opportunistic darkspawn. The hurlock staggered back as its guts spill across the gore-splattered flagstones of the roof. He was forced to begin to duck and weave as a surge of darkspawn broke away from the main group and headed straight towards him. The army struggled to compensate for the unexpected change in tactics from the creatures and for a few moments, all that protected Alistair was his own skill and the combined efforts of the mages as they cast protective spells and paralysis glyphs around him.

But that was not what worried him. Even as he defended himself, he was aware that the majority of the creatures were pushing past him intent on hunting down the song which lay somewhere behind. Divided by the scattered approach of the darkspawn, the army regiments were being pushed back and separated from one another. Surrounded as he was, Alistair was unable to provide the direction required to maintain the unified approach. He could hear as Sten and Oghren attempted to seize back control but the effect was minimal.

Alistair spat the taste of tainted blood from his mouth. He was good to no one dead. With renewed focus, his voice found its strength again and he heard himself barking out orders even before he fully knew what those orders should be. The army before him responded to the reinvigorated direction, adapting to the new command structure as he ordered Sten to instruct the elves to concentrate their fire on defending the solitary figure. He called for a handful of mages to break off their spell casting from him and instead direct as many protection spells as their mana allowed towards her. Oghren was ordered to continue focusing on the Archdemon and he heard himself promise the dwarf five barrels of the best Ferelden ale if he could manage it.

"Bailing out on me, Warden?" Oghren roared over the general din.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder towards the middle of the rooftop. The dwarf had a point. It would hopefully not be long now. The moment to land the killing blow was not far off and he could not risk missing it. She was protected by the long-range defences. He was protected by Morrigan's ritual. There was no reason that he could think of to go to her. No reason. He had always laid his heart bare to her; she would know. She would know what she meant to him. That she was everything. That he was able to commit to this for her and able to face this because of her. And if she did not know then he would be able to tell her afterwards. He did not need to go to her. He did not.

But in the end, he was a weak man.

* * *

><p>Breathing hard, the drizzle mingling with the sweat already on her skin, Elissa forced herself to keep moving across the rooftop. The strands of hair which had fallen loose from their fastenings plastered against her face and neck. Her chest constricted as she struggled to find the oxygen her lungs were burning for and the blade, small as it was, trailed behind her. The vibration of the metal grating across the stone travelled up her arm and causing her muscles to tense involuntarily. The rough linen shirt beneath her armour was quick to absorb the water as it ran through the gaps between body and plate and her legs buckled under the additional weight.<p>

The sound of _its_ presence reverberated through the taint and into the fibre of her being. _It_ was attempting to encompass her entire being, thoughts and all. She turned what little presence of mind she had left and focussed entirely on _him_, allowing his song to guide her through the haze of smoke and rain.

In her exhaustion she stumbled against an uneven flagstone and unable to support her full weight on her injured leg, crashed to her hands and knees. The sword skidded away from her and she collapsed against the ground, the damp coolness of the stones beneath her a welcome relief to the throbbing pain which sent an odd warmth throughout her body.

_Him_.

With a grunting wail, she heaved herself back up onto her hands and knees. The jolt of pain as she again jarred her injured leg almost caused her to pass out and she had to fight to keep alert. Her knuckles turned white from the force with which she was clawing at the stone beneath her. She needed to find her sword, she needed to reach the Archdemon and she needed to end it all. But first, she needed to _get up_.

The simplicity of the need and her inability to achieve it forced a sob from between her gritted teeth. She had seen the bodies of her friends scattered around her as they fell defending _her _and yet it was her failure to stand on her own two feet which brought the tears to her eyes at last.

Hot angry tears ran off her nose and splashed on the stone beneath her. A growing spot of clean stone began to spread beneath her head as the force of the tears washed the blood splatter away in a way the drizzle could not.

_Him_.

She struggled to retain her focus as his song became eclipsed by the discordant chatter of other tainted creatures. She raised her head, tear streaked face turned towards the clash of song. A throng of darkspawn had broken away and were advancing on her. And in the midst of it all, _he_ was there. Cutting, hacking, slicing; he made his way towards her as elven arrows and shielding spells were directed towards her, offering their protection in his stead.

She lowered her head and begged her broken body to support her for just a short while longer. She had summoned the energy to lie to her friends; she could surely do no less for him. She would not let him see her like this. She could _not_...

And then he was there.

Strong arms encircled her body. Soothing words were whispered in her ear. Cradled against his chest, she ignored the cold sensation of his armour against her wet cheek and allowed herself a brief respite from the despair eroding at her from within. She closed her eyes and let the simple sensation of having him close to her soothe her soul.

But the reality of what had to be done could not be pushed away so easily.

"Love," his voice hovered only inches above her face and she felt as his hand stroked her cheek. He had thrown his gauntlets down so he could touch her skin to skin. "Love, where's Morrigan? Where are the others? Why are you alone?"

Her eyelids flickered as she resisted opening them, wishing to hold onto this moment with him for just a small while longer. She could not bear that she would have to admit that she had let him down once more. She thought to lie, to act as though Morrigan did not lie dead somewhere in the Fort below them, that she only wished to take the blow as a precaution. But the soft graze of his fingers against her skin and the tender concern in his voice revealed that whatever else he may have felt about her behaviour, at this point his only thought was for her. All the fear of his anger and rejection dissolved in the tears which began to push against her shut lids. Whether in her eyes or in her voice, she knew that he would hear the lie.

Knowing the curve and shape of his body by heart, her hand snaked up from where it rested against his chest and to behind at the base of his neck without her having to open her eyes to meet that ever trusting gaze. Fingers tightened against his head and she pulled him into a kiss. No tenderness or guile, she fumbled for the physical connection that would communicate all that she did not have time to say.

It was so important that he know how she needed him. That he know her deepest regret was of all the words which tripped from her tongue, it was the ones which would have confided in him when she had been struggling that had been impossible to find. That should he ever look back, _if_ he should ever look back, he would not doubt himself. That he would understand that she was all she was only because of him. That he would accept her failings as her own. And that even though what they had could not be more than it was, he would know she loved him. Then, now and always.

She poured every last shred of herself into the embrace. All she had was his.

For a single moment, he hesitated as if sensing the presence of the underlying truth he was yet to fully comprehend. But then he too responded in kind and between them both, all doubt of one another melted away and in those precious seconds they found again what each had lost.

The shriek of the Archdemon forced them apart. Her eyes flew open as she felt his head turn towards the creature. His hold tightened around her for a brief second before relaxing as he prepared to lay her back on the ground. He was getting ready to bolt towards it and finish this. Finish all of this.

Fear gripped at her heart. "Alistair."

He looked back to her and the truth was at last laid bare in front of him. It was still true that he had no particular wish to die but faced with the inevitable, the decision was as simple. He would face the Archdemon with the same courage both Duncan and Riordan had shown. He brushed away the tears that had spilled across her cheeks, grateful that his moment of weakness meant he had one last chance to hold her again.

She reached up and stopped his hand, pushing it away from her in a distracted attempt to make this easier. "You have to let me do it."

Alistair shook his head in silent but determined protest.

Fear turned to anger and she writhed against his hold, attempting to free herself. The movement knocked the foot of her injured leg and unprepared for the shoot of pain which travelled from the fracture, she let out a howl. The misplaced anger dissipated and she sank back against him, fresh sobs wracking her body. The same body which had betrayed her so that she could no longer fulfil her self-made promise alone. Cowering against him as he tried to calm her, the realisation of the request she had to make of him threatened to crush her.

She could not do it without him.

Maker, it had always been the case but it seemed such a cruel irony that it was when she wanted him furthest from her that she needed him right beside her. But this. This, she could not ask from him. Yet if she were to save all that was important in her life then she would have to. Hesitantly, she turned her face up to his and their gazes interlocked.

Seeing the conflict in her expression, he understood. He knew what she intended. And what she needed from him. He began to shake his head again, small movements at first but fast becoming more vigorous as though the action alone would prevent her from asking him outright. He would do anything for her but Maker, that was too much to ask. After everything, surely it was too much.

Another screech from the Archdemon caused them both to tear their attention from one another and back to the battle surrounding them. It was going well; better than could ever have been hoped for. The elves and mages continued to deflect the swarms of darkspawn from the two Grey Wardens while the men and dwarves retained a command over the Archdemon itself. All that was required was that final blow. Victory was close.

And so was their last goodbye.

Alistair pressed his forehead against hers and they breathed one another in. She had made no effort to hide the torment that was destroying her. Manifested in her appearance and seconded by the look in her eyes; she was broken. But able to see beyond the jagged edges of her shattered soul, he had to believe that she could be repaired. Healed and restored. As much as she might wish for it, this should not be her end.

"You _will_ help me to do this."

A simple command. There was a hint of her old self which surfaced in the insistent tone of the words. He could almost believe that to refuse would be churlish. Almost.

"You can't order me to do this," his voice was hoarse. "It doesn't work that way."

"Better to die like this than in another way," she murmured.

He stiffened as he caught the implication. "Elissa..."

"Choose, Alistair."

"You are asking me to choose how you die. I can't do that!" His head jerked back and he fixed a frantic glare on her. "I _won't_ do that!"

"Then accept what _I_ have chosen," she pleaded, hands cupping his face.

Intended as a gift, she knew he felt it as a curse. But whether he was aware of it or not, the answer was already in his eyes even as his mouth moved noiselessly for the non-existent argument that would change her mind.

She forced him to abandon the futile search. "Thank you."

This was wrong. His whole being screamed at him that this was wrong. But unwavering to the last, he would not deny her now. Without another word, he rose to his feet with her worn out body in his arms. He held her close as he made his way to the creature, the arrows and spells which still rained down around them driving the darkspawn back. Both Grey Wardens were as far from the indestructible heroes of rumour as they had ever been.

The Archdemon was cornered and its head swivelled towards them as it sensed their approach amid the attacking forces in front of it. It began to thrash around as a panicked desperation enveloped it yet the injuries it had sustained prevented it from escaping.

The dwarves and men broke apart to allow the Wardens to reach the creature. In a rough voice, Alistair barked an order at the troops and they fell back to support the elves and mages. Cocooned in a small oasis of calm, he lowered Elissa onto her good leg but kept an arm around her waist to help her keep her balance. He waited while she struggled to steady herself before using his free arm to reach back for his sword. For a terrible moment, she thought he had fooled her. But with one swift movement, all he did was strike out across the underbelly of the creature to prevent it from causing her further harm. He had promised her the killing blow and he would ensure that promise was kept.

Turning back to her, she saw the expression on his face. A lingering shred of hope that she would falter and ask him to make the sacrifice. She clutched at his shoulder and forced her good leg to support her whole weight on tiptoe as she grazed his cheek with a kiss. Caught between supporting her and holding his sword, he was unable to do more than tilt his cheek against her mouth. The warm tickle of her breath against the lobe of his ear was the last sensation he had.

Alistair pressed the hilt of his sword into her hand, not trusting himself to keep to his unspoken agreement if he stayed with her any longer. The sensation of his arm slipping away from around her waist was more agonising than she could have imagined.

"Don't look back," she blurted out, gritting her teeth as she endured the stabs of pain coursing throughout her body. The ones from her fractured leg were the easiest to bear.

He gave an abrupt nod. "Eyes forward."

She made to say those three little words but he turned and walked away from her, stooping to pick up a discarded blade before taking his place next to his men as they defended against what appeared to be the last onslaught of the Horde. It was just as well. Ridiculous as it was, she found the words too final to be able to say.

Denying the existence of the hurt in both mind and body, Elissa forced herself to clamber over the beast in front of her and straddled its neck. Raising the blade, his blade, she found herself looking towards him. He stood facing the Horde but his head was turned over his shoulder and his eyes were fixed on her face. Of all the promises he had made to her, it was the last he failed to keep. And in the end she was glad of it.

With a grunt, she drove the sword through the creature's skull. The explosion of light encased her being and the piercing agony of her soul being consumed by the evil within the creature drove any further coherent thought from her mind. It was as though she was being torn apart from her very core, splintering into a thousand fragments as the creature's taint rushed through her body and consumed everything contained within.

And then as suddenly as the pain had come, there was nothing.

* * *

><p>The onslaught never came.<p>

The silencing of the Archdemon was enough to sever the purpose which drove the Horde. The foul creatures began to scatter, abandoning their assault and fleeing what were now the restrictive streets of the city.

Motionless amongst the flurry of commotion, Alistair remained where he stood and stared across the emptying rooftop. He was able to hear his own thoughts. No constant screech of tainted song or discordant notes of a demon whispering into his mind; his mind was his own once more.

He had never felt so alone.

The desire to hear the call of her taint was overpowering. It seemed to reach out to him from some deep and dark place in his mind; taunting him with the all too brief moment of happiness when he had found it again only hours before. The curse of the taint had been warped into something beautiful; a constant reminder of her presence. And now it was only a memory. As was everything they had. As was she.

He swallowed and forced himself to draw breath at the full realisation of his loss. He could still hear her song, etched as it was into his head, and he did not know whether to take comfort in the false sensation or banish it as the pitiful substitute it was. He did not know what he wanted. Except her. He wanted her. And she was gone.

More than that, he had let her go.

The prickling sensation across his skin alerted him to the numerous pairs of eyes which were turning towards him, looking for a signal that the seemingly impossible battle had in fact been achieved. He knew he should make some gesture and be seen to embrace the victory but he had nothing left to give. Instead, he made a vague gesture towards Oghren who mercifully understood and with typical dwarven enthusiasm succeeded in rallying the troops.

Reassured that the task was indeed complete, the various regiments permitted him the space he craved as they each looked to their own. The casualties were acceptable. At least, that was what the rational part of him argued. Yet as he focused in and out of the sight of the elves, dwarves and humans in front of him, he understood that such rationality had no place in grief. His own sorrow reflected that.

Her song began to fade away from his mind. He imagined that the further he moved through time from the moment then the quicker she would slip away from him.

Her body lay behind him but he had no wish to search for it. Still warm yet without a soul, he did not want to be reminded that it was only minutes ago he had cradled her. Despairing as she had been, she had been whole. Now he was left with only the shell. And as beautiful as he had come to see that shell, he had no interest without her essence to enliven it. Yet he could not bear the thought of any other touching her. Perhaps being close to her body with the faint echo of her song still in his mind would provide some form of comfort to draw on through the next days, weeks, months. A desperate reassurance that he had made the right decision, that it had not been cowardice and that setting her free from the darkness eclipsing her heart had been his only intention.

With slow and halting steps, Alistair retraced the paces he had taken from her. Then it had been ten, completed in a deliberate stride which suggested a sense of purpose and self-assurance. Now it was more than double that number, made with a reluctant tread which revealed the performance for what it had been.

The _thing_ had bucked as the sword had been drive through its skull and she had slipped from her perch, crashing onto the stone below. She was crumpled in a heap next to its body. One small form dwarfed by her surroundings.

As he neared her, the faint trill of her song trickled through the back of his mind and his spiteful memory seemed to heighten the sensation. He crouched down and tenderly gathered her up as if she was only sleeping. Her head lolled against his shoulder and he lowered his chin so that his cheek brushed across her hair. In the past such a movement would have been accompanied by a disgruntled mutter as she half woke from her sleep. A murmured word from him was always enough to reassure her that all was well and she would nestle against him, her breathing settling back into a steady rhythm. Cradling her, his malicious recollection traced the movement of her chest rising and falling as though she still took those breaths.

Her far arm hung down and disturbed the peaceful imagery he so wanted to impose on her. There were clear scorch marks on the hand closest to him which was draped over her chest. He had the urge to bandage them in case the injuries should cause her pain. The ridiculousness of the desire was as painful as the realisation that there was nothing he could do which would heal any hurt she endured now.

"_Ataash varin kata." _Sten approached him from the side.

He resented the intrusion but knew the Qunari was offering his own form of consolation even if he did not understand the words.

"Her arm," he said dully. "Move her arm."

Sten made a guttural noise at the back of his throat but respected the order given and grasped at the arm hang limply down. He made to manipulate it so that it rested across her chest but stopped with a frown.

"There is life here."

"No, she's gone," the gruffness of his voice developed into a deep growl at being forced to speak the words.

The Qunari ignored him as he laid fingers across her throat. Satisfied by what he felt, he raised his head and issued a booming command across the rooftop.

"Healing, now!"

"Sten, she is _dead_!"

The Qunari fixed one of his unblinking stares on the smaller man. "No, she is not."


	23. Origins: Chapter 23

None of this made sense.

While his head refused to believe the words and his broken heart seized on the faintest of hopes, Alistair was torn between the two. But deepest despair was too much for one heart to climb out of alone and his mind began to win out.

It wasn't possible. She had believed Morrigan was dead. The conviction with which she had stopped him; the insistence that he allow her to take the blow and the fervent goodbye she had poured into that kiss. Even when everything else in her mind had been collapsing, that conviction had remained constant. She had to be dead.

_And yet..._

The shuddering pain in his chest gave him a glimpse of what existed for him if she was indeed dead. Anything to postpone that echoing of his single heartbeat was a welcome distraction. If she was not dead then Morrigan had to be alive. As the child surely was. As the others may be. A few moments ago, his future had lain as a shattered dream at his feet. Now, it was still in his grasp. At least it might be.

The mages were closing in on him. He shrank away, clutching the body in his arms closer to his chest and away from the hands that wanted to wrench her away from him, push him aside and drive him back from her.

Sten took a step towards him with a low growl. "Either she dies in your arms or you consent to have her healed. That is the decision."

Alistair had a desperate need for the time and space to think. But while his mind argued that he had all the time in the world, his heart screamed at him to let the mages do whatever they could. Healing, resurrection, blood magic. It did not _matter_. She was what mattered.

One of the mages approached him with tentative steps, ducking her head so that his gaze was drawn to hers. He recognised her as the one who had been fetched to tend to Riordan. There was a well-practiced smile of reassurance on her face and his mind blustered at being treated with such condescension. His heart on the other hand hung onto the shred of hope her gaze offered with all its fragile strength.

The woman's smile softened as she recognised the desperation with which he searched her face for an answer to a question he could not voice. With a deliberate movement intended not to panic him, the mage reached out a hand and pointed at Elissa's face. "Look, there is still some colour in her cheeks." Her hand moved to hover over the other woman's chest. "And there, she's breathing." She laid the hand against Elissa's breast. "And beneath this armour her heart still beats. Trust these things for what they are, Warden."

Alistair refused to look down at the body. Instead he continued to stare at the mage, weighing up whether he should trust her gaze or his own. He thought he knew what he had seen but was it possible that she saw what he could not bear to let himself hope for?

The mage caught his indecision. "Let us heal her. Please."

"It's alright, lad," Oghren appeared in his field of vision. "Let them give her the once over."

Sten folded his arms across his chest and grunted. ""She is _kadan_."

The echoing of his own voice in his head reached fever point. The rational part of him shouted that he was allowing them to desecrate these last moments with her as a result of their own inability to believe she had gone and that he would be left to bear the emotional cost of their stupidity. The argument was sound.

Yet he had allowed his head to rule since that night and it had caused him nothing but hurt. But ever since he had felt her step onto that damned rooftop, every choice had been made by his heart. Now, there was everything to be gained from allowing it one last chance to guide him.

Alistair gave a hesitant nod towards the mage.

"Lay her down," she instructed.

Obediently, he dropped to his knees and gently laid the body out in front of him.

"Now stand back," she beckoned to the mages standing to the side. "Let us work, Warden."

Oghren hooked a hand beneath Alistair's armpit and dragged him back with a well-intentioned roughness. The movement caused Alistair to rock back onto his feet and he straightened to his full height, shrugging off Oghren's hold. He stood stiffly at the side of the Qunari and dwarf and watched as the mages began their healing spells.

Not for the first time in his life, Alistair wished he was something other than what he was. His skill as a warrior seemed so pointless if it could not even protect the people most important to him. All the thoughts and doubts in his mind merged into one confusing mass as he stared at the one constant that should have been present in all his futures. He prayed that she could be revived. The Maker, Andraste, whoever chose to listen.

The brightness and warmth of the mages combined healing spells radiated outwards and he felt the beneficial effects within his own body. The various aches and pains vanished though the weariness in his soul remained. As did the broken heart that did not know whether to be broken or not.

Unable to keep his gaze focused on the increasingly blinding glow, he turned towards the rooftop and watched as heads began to turn towards the spectacle. First one, then a handful and then more. The rumour spread across the rooftop and all stopped what they were doing as they looked towards her, seeking a sign that she survived. He felt their need multiplied tenfold by his own and his heart began to betray him as tendrils of rationality wrapped themselves around it and began to squeeze.

He had allowed her to go to her death. When she was at her most vulnerable, he had let her succumb to her fears. Pandered to her. Such weakness could not be erased so easily. Why would he escape punishment for such a choice? She could not be alive. It would be a mockery of everything. For her to be alive was to give him a second chance. A chance to help her. A chance to love her. A chance to make it right, whatever it was.

_Maker, give him that chance._

For such a momentous decision as it had been for him, the time the mages spent over her seemed too short. But they broke away with their knowledge and mana exhausted.

The female mage rubbed a hand across her forehead, eyes glassy as she stared at him. One of the Templars stepped forward and caught her as she stumbled, a hand closing around her upper arm in a half defensive and half protective movement.

"Her injuries were slight. They have been healed," the young woman murmured, leaning into the Templar's grasp. "But she requires rest. We have deliberately kept her in the Fade. She should be allowed to sleep for as long her body deems necessary."

As Alistair stared at the mage swaying in front of him with a sickly pallor, his mind finally caught up with his heart.

_She was alive._

* * *

><p>Death was an inevitable end. It happened. There was no need for regret.<p>

Yet the way in which Zevran crouched over the body of his fellow rogue suggested that the elf was reluctant to accept his own philosophy as he struggled to keep Leliana alive.

Morrigan rested against the wall where Zevran had propped her. He had tended to her after her groan but save from making her comfortable and handing her one of the small vials of health potion he had uncovered from the bodies of the darkspawn, the elf had not left the side of the Bard.

Her injuries were not as severe as the other woman's. The magic imbued in her robes had deflected much even when her spirit shield had collapsed yet there was still significant hurt to prevent her from moving. She had intended to leave as soon as the battle had been won but was forced to remain in this suffocating room despite her plans.

Morrigan had sensed the end of the battle. The awareness as the soul of the Archdemon sought out the small and defenceless tainted life within her had been odd. She herself had felt a brief surge of panic that all was not as it seemed and she had been fooled by Flemeth. A moment of total fear that she would become some form of powerful abomination. But as the dark and corrupted elements of demon and taint had destroyed one another and the Old God and child became a purified soul, the Witch had regained her composure. The experience had not been painful but it would have been misleading to suggest it was painless. However it could be described, Morrigan was acutely aware that her body now encased so much more than her own being.

The Witch had chosen not to tell Zevran that the battle was won. Aside from the difficulty in answering the question of how she knew such a thing, the news had little bearing on the well-being of Leliana and she could see that the elf had little concern for anything else.

The clatter of footsteps echoed from one of the adjacent halls and Zevran rose from his position, moving to the door with dagger in hand. He took a wary stance next to the door, keeping flat against the wall as he sought out who or what had made the noise. A few moments passed and his posture passed from tensed to relaxed, shoulders dropping and dagger sheathed without hesitation indicating the presence of friend over foe.

"Alistair."

The Witch froze as Zevran stepped from the room and beyond her scope. The ritual would have protected the one who made the killing blow from the sacrifice but it would not have permitted that one to simply walk away. She heard a brief conversation conducted in low tones which prevented her from making out the words. A small pause and the grunt of the Qunari then a clatter of feet as a small group moved off.

Elf and human entered into the room. Morrigan searched Alistair's face for a clue as to how Elissa fared. While Zevran returned to Leliana, the man approached Morrigan and crouched down next to her.

He moved in a slow manner which said more for his mental state than even the weary expression on his face. There was a distant look in his eyes that revealed his heart was elsewhere even while his body remained in the room. Morrigan was charitable in her decision to believe that it was his exhaustion which led him to forget his place and brush some of her hair away from her face. She did not wish to consider that it may have been an attempt to demonstrate some form of connection with the Witch. Or the child.

She could not find the strength to contort her face into a scowl although she did her best to clutch at his arm. "Elissa..."

"She will recover," was the simplistic answer. The unconscious flinch suggested that there was a much more complicated one. "Is he... How badly are you injured?"

"I will recover with some healing."

"I'm glad," he managed a faint smile at what would have been a surprising statement only a few short months ago and which indicated that he had more presence of mind than his current appearance suggested.

Morrigan did scowl then; keen to warn the Warden off any further displays of attachment.

"I don't want to fight," he sighed, catching the underlying message. "The mages need lyrium before they can continue with healing. Will you allow one of my men to carry you to Eamon's estate? That's where I've told Sten to take Elissa."

Morrigan hesitated before motioning her consent with a single nod of her head.

"Good," he turned and gestured at one of the Redcliffe men hovering in the hallway. The man looked distinctly nervous at the obvious delegation of responsibility to manhandle the fabled Witch of the Wilds. "Follow Sten and ask the mages to heal her once they're able." Alistair issued his orders as he moved to allow the man access to scoop the Witch up. "Be gentle."

The man bowed his head in acknowledgement but there was a glint in Alistair's eye as he turned away. With a low growl which only served to unnerve the man further, Morrigan demonstrated her displeasure at being the one to whom the statement had been actually directed.

Alistair did not respond; his attention already fixated on the prone figure lying in the middle of the floor. Zevran maintained his vigil and Alistair took his place next to him.

"She is unconscious," Zevran murmured.

The deliberate way that her body was positioned spoke to the severity of her wounds more than the little Alistair could see of her injuries. He reached out and very gently turned the Bard's head. He controlled his reaction although the sharp intake of breath was enough to accurately convey the horror of the wound. The scorch marks on her armour hinted at further burns which were better hidden.

"I do not know if she will survive even with healing," the elf continued.

"We have to try," Alistair brushed aside Zevran's realism. "She can't stay here."

"There is no danger. It is better that she stay."

"No," Alistair's tone was harsher than he intended but he was not leaving Leliana to die in the bowels of this forsaken Fort. "She should be with those who love her. Not sprawled out on a cold stone floor."

Zevran was silent, unconvinced by the argument but aware that he had little influence over the man beside him.

"I'll carry her," Alistair summoned the last of his energy and gathered her up. He was grateful that her being unconscious prevented her from being aware of the pain that it no doubt caused her even gentle as he was.

Zevran also rose to his feet. He glanced between Leliana and Alistair then back to the Bard again. "I will search out lyrium. The bodies of the darkspawn should yield enough to begin with."

Alistair nodded. "Oghren is on the roof organising those fit enough to begin sweeps of the city streets. Go to him and ask to be assigned some of the dwarves."

The elf inclined his head and made to leave but Alistair called to him.

"Zevran, come as soon as you have enough to replenish the mages. Let the dwarves search out the rest."

"I intended as much," the elf threw over his shoulder as he vanished.

* * *

><p>Exiting the Fort with Leliana in his arms, Alistair had made a shambling progress through the Palace District as word travelled faster than he could move. With each step, his ears became filled with the sound of more requests and demands to the extent that he could not distinguish one from another. His route became obstructed by more and more bodies and when he looked up to search out a way forward, he had been confronted by a sea of faces he either did not recognise or had only set eyes on briefly. Panic had begun to take grip of him as he felt completely at a loss. He had no idea what to do or say. There was too much to deal with; too many demands for his time and attention that he had neither knowledge nor inclination to fulfil.<p>

Desperately, he had looked for a familiar face even as he continued to push through the growing crowd. He had no experience of dealing with this. He had no idea how best to repair a city from the edge of ruin let alone a country.

It was with an almost hysterical sense of relief that he had caught sight of Eamon on the fringes of the throng. While Elissa's healing had occupied those on the rooftop, the remainder of the city had had more time to reorganise themselves. The nobles had already begun to coordinate the people in lieu of their King, responding to rumour as it filtered through.

The presence of the older man had a calming effect on Alistair and he had regained himself enough to adjust his direction towards Eamon.

"I have already spoken with the Qunari," Eamon greeted Alistair. "I have sent word to Isolde to prepare for you. I thought you would prefer to be in surroundings that were in part familiar."

"Thank you," Alistair gestured to the woman in his arms. He had deliberately picked her up so her disfigurement was hidden against his chest. "Leliana is badly injured. I need to bring her to the mages. And I need to check on Elissa."

"Of course. With your permission, I will continue to organise what is needed here. See to your companions," Eamon sensed the pointlessness in discussing anything further and permitted the young King to abandon what should have been his more pressing obligations to the city for the time being.

True to his word and embracing his role as advisor, the Arl had seen to it that the crowd began to disperse as he saw to it that their various questions were answered, deflected or referred with a ruthless efficiency. The way to the Arl's estate had cleared and Alistair had been able to pass through the streets with little interference.

And so now, having found the mages and laid Leliana on one of the beds in a neighbouring bedroom, Alistair sat beside his betrothed. Eamon had reappeared for a brief while, keen to assess the prognosis of the newly christened Hero of Ferelden in order to spread the word of her condition throughout the city. But he had taken one look at the near mutiny in Alistair's expression and disappeared once more although he had seen fit to send a change of clothes. With clean clothes in such easy reach, the mages had insisted that Alistair change from his blood-stained armour arguing that there was no need to provide the stench of the taint if it were not required. He had complied only so that he could be left alone with her. The speed with which his armour had been secreted away gave him some idea that Eamon had plans for it but it was nothing Alistair wished to concern himself with at the moment.

Embracing the calmness of his new surroundings, Alistair attempted to run a hand through his hair as a means of displacing his anxiety. But his fingers became tangled in the sweat and blood which had matted it. He had no access to a mirror but he began to get the impression that his clean clothes probably looked ridiculous against the evidence of the battle which was evident in every other part of his appearance. Yet washing would have meant being apart from her for even longer and he was not prepared to be separated from her. The mages had attempted to persuade him to go and rest, promising that he would be woken if she should so much as stir but he refused to agree. True, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept. He was almost sure that it was before... everything. Just... everything. But if he had gone that long without rest then surely he was capable of lasting a few more hours.

Yet the yawn which escaped suggested otherwise and Alistair forced himself back onto his feet, moving to the open window to gaze over what was now his city. He wondered where his friends were. Leliana and Morrigan were accounted for in the adjacent rooms and he knew Oghren was helping to coordinate the army. He imagined that Sten had also returned to the army having carried Elissa to safety. The Qunari had kept watch over Elissa until Alistair arrived but had disappeared from the vicinity shortly afterwards. He knew Zevran was continuing his looting of the darkspawn corpses. The elf's enduring practicality had overridden the sentimentality he had revealed in the Fort and he was now organising a structured approach to the search so that vital supplies of all kinds were not lost before the bodies were taken outside the city walls to be burned. Even so, Alistair had occasionally caught the sound of the elf's voice as he returned with more lyrium for the mages, checking on the progress of the Bard at each visit. Thinking on her condition, Alistair offered a small prayer before he hastily added in any of the injured lying in the city below. He hoped the Maker would not think him selfish.

Having accounted for those who still lived, his mind turned to the companions he had lost. He had little doubt that as order was restored to more and more of the city the number of souls he would have to give special commendation to would increase. But already, there were too many friends on the list.

The knowledge that order was being forced on the chaos engulfing the city amplified the nagging doubt at the back of his mind which told him that he should not be standing doing nothing. While Eamon led and his friend acted, he had a vague sense that he should at least be seen to be doing. Moving corpses, building pyres, sifting through rubble in search of other survivors. But that vague sense was overruled by the definite knowledge that he was not leaving her.

He closed his eyes and leant his head against the cool stone, grateful for the small breeze through the window which prevented him from falling asleep on his feet. Maker, he truly was tired. The quietness of the room was only punctuated by the steady if shallow breathing of Elissa. He took comfort from the sound, reassured by its nearness and the confirmation contained within it that she was indeed alive. He scrunched his eyes and swallowed as he resisted the thoughts of what he could have so easily allowed had he not consented to the mages examining her.

The rough grating of the latch as it was lifted provided a timely escape from his traitorous mind and even relaxed as he had been, his hand instinctively reached to where his sword had rested for so long. Finding only air, he cursed under his breath at his stupidity.

Morrigan flashed him a disapproving look as she slipped into the room, correctly reading his stance as defensive. "Perhaps you expected the Archdemon?"

Alistair let out a held breath. "What are you doing out of bed? You need to rest."

The Witch gave a derisory wave of her hand, succinctly dismissing his anxiety with one gesture. She made her way to the bedside and leant over the young woman with a frown. "I had to be sure."

"Of what?" Alistair moved to the other side of the bed, squinting at Elissa in an attempt to see what the Witch searched for.

"She took the final blow." Morrigan moved her hands over Elissa as she examined her. "Tis something I had not expected."

His poorly buried guilt surfaced and warped her statement into an accusation. His expression darkened and Morrigan glanced up as she sensed the change in him.

"I am not surprised often, Alistair." The Witch remarked as she fixed a cool stare on him. "Do not take criticism where it is not intended."

He resisted the irrational need he felt to explain himself and instead focused on the Witch herself. "Morrigan, you need to rest."

"The child is unharmed and I am healed."

"Zevran told me what you did." He spoke quietly.

Morrigan stiffened, her hands hovering over Elissa faltering for a second. When she spoke, her tone was deliberately caustic. "It was a foolish decision."

"Hers or yours?"

"It matters little," she sneered, "The outcome remains the desired one."

Alistair studied her and waited until the sensation of his stare fixed on her face forced her to meet his gaze. "Thank you, Morrigan."

The words hung in the air between them. With an ill-tempered snarl, the Witch made a point of busying herself while they dissipated.

Alistair gave up trying to reach out to her. Their relationship may have changed but she remained as temperamental as ever towards him and he was at least familiar enough with her to accept it. And wise enough to recognise the warning signs. "Will she be alright?"

"Yes."

"Good. You really need to go and rest then."

Morrigan glanced at him. His concern for her was genuine and it seemed that he had no idea of her true intention. With a smothered sigh, she summoned a soft glow beneath her hands and watched as Alistair's gaze was drawn to it. He became fixated and it was a simple task for her to use suggestion to manipulate his behaviour.

"You are tired, Warden. Sit."

Obediently, he dropped onto the bed as the heaviness of his head and limbs suddenly overwhelmed him.

"Lie back," she murmured.

He struggled to look at her but his eye lids threatened to close mid-movement and instead he lay down, curling against Elissa out of a habit formed from months of sharing limited bedding space and a simple desire to be near to her.

"Now sleep," came the last instruction.

There was a small sense that he should fight the sleep that threatened to rob him of consciousness but it was too welcome a feeling. It took only a few minutes for Alistair to succumb to the temptation.

Regardless, Morrigan waited until Alistair's breathing fell into the same steady rhythm as Elissa's before moving from the bedside. She pulled at the ring on her middle finger, toying with it as she considered whether to leave it or not. A foolish moment of sentimentality had caused her to part with its partner but she felt oddly gratified to see that he wore it on his hand. Whatever she may think of the Warden, he was as fiercely loyal to Elissa as she and it seemed a worthwhile gift to leave the second ring for Elissa to wear. Yet with the limited magical skill they had, she doubted whether either would be able to use the rings as anything other than gaudy trinkets and besides, the connection of their taint was as unique as the rings.

Abruptly, she replaced the ring on her finger and mumbled a few words to temporarily disable the link with its partner. An undetermined future lay in front of her and with the various dangers she imagined would exist, it may be prudent to retain some link to the past.

Summoning a small portion of her mana, there was a small burst of light and the figure of Morrigan vanished as a hawk flew out the window.

* * *

><p><em>Morrigan<em>.

Alistair cracked open an eye. The Witch had cast a sleeping spell over him and true to form, there was now no sign of her. He squinted towards the window. Maker knew how long he had slept but judging from the light creeping in from the window and across the floor, it was early dawn. The city was silent; too late for drunken revelry and too early for sober practicalities, the people had sought out safe places to rest their heads. The acrid stench of burning darkspawn flesh filled his nose as the pyres outside the city each burned through their loads. He had no doubt that there would be enough corpses in the city to ensure that the fires would burn for some time yet.

Glancing around the room, he noticed the tray of food sitting just inside the room although the door itself remained closed. At least his whereabouts were accounted for by someone. The gesture was very much Leliana but he imagined that it had in fact been one of the mages. With a pang, he hoped that the Bard had recovered. He fumbled for some recollection of Morrigan before he had fallen asleep but aside from her checking on Elissa, he could remember little of what had been said. Yet for Morrigan to cast a spell over him suggested she wished to do something he would not approve of. No doubt he would discover the full extent of it given time.

Dismissing the Witch from his thoughts, Alistair turned his attention to the figure enveloped in his arms. The mages had stripped her of her armour and she lay in an oversized linen shirt that had been hastily sourced. He felt the jutting curve of her spine pressing against his chest and his arm draped over the dip of her waist which was exaggerated by the prominence of her hip bones. He had known from the weight of her when he lifted her on the rooftop that she was a shadow of her former self but without her armour to bulk her out, the full extent of her deterioration was revealed.

Alistair made to move his arm with a foolish belief that the weight of his arm would hurt her if it remained across her. As he did so, he heard her breathing change and felt her body tense as she stirred from her sleep. With a small groan, Elissa rolled from her side onto her back and eyed him with a muddled look that revealed that her mind was still mainly in the Fade.

It was her delayed transition between realms to which he attributed the beautiful smile she greeted him with. Reaching across, her fingers brushed over his skin tracing the curve of his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, across the flesh of his cheek and along his jaw line. He pressed his face against her touch, a touch that not so long ago he had not expected to ever experience again. His gaze fixed on her, desperate to burn into his memory the way she was able to make him feel with such simple gestures.

Her smile faltered as she caught the intensity of his reaction. Her gaze flickered to her fingertips as she sensed that his reaction was prompted by something she was yet to remember. Her growing disorientation manifested itself in her touch as she retraced the pattern as though an answer to her developing questions existed on his skin and she just had to find it.

Alistair felt as his chest restricted and his breathing slowed. He did not want her to remember. He wanted her to be as she was now; focused and content. Her smile had begun to fade further but for a brief moment he had caught a glimpse of who she had been all those months ago. Healthy and whole.

The smile deepened into a puzzled frown. Elissa moved her hand to behind his head and lightly ran her hand through as best she could, her jaw clenching in distaste as she felt the clotted blood, before coming to a rest at the base of his neck. Her eyes widened as the flood of memories poured into her mind and the blissful ignorance granted by the Fade was firmly banished. The terror and desperation etched themselves across her face and she began to shake as she struggled to maintain control.

His heart wrenched as he was forced to endure her deterioration once again. Within seconds, the show of the confident Warden she had been vanished and she was the frightened and despairing woman once more. The only difference was this time he would not let her go. Alistair drew her against him in a wordless gesture that was an attempt to shield her from the horror of her own thoughts. Elissa made an attempt to wriggle free but he instinctively tightened his hold and was rewarded as she relaxed against him, searing sobs wracking her body.

He continued to hold her, suppressing any of his own responses in order to better allow her the space she so very much needed. There would be a time when he would be able to indulge in the grief and guilt and relief and whatever other emotion was contained deep within him but now was not that time. Now, she needed him. Now, he was focused entirely on her.

After a time, Elissa quietened as the ferocity of her tears exhausted themselves out. The oppressiveness of the silence in the room seemed to close in around them. Both were aware of the multitude of questions which needed to be asked. There were so many that it was difficult for either to know where to start. But the answer to all of them remained the same, at least for the moment.

"I don't know."

Alistair guessed the words more than heard them, muffled as they were by being spoken into his chest.

"Neither do I," he laid a soft kiss in her hair.

"Then let's just be," she pulled her head back a fraction so the words were clearer. "Here and now. For as long as we can, let's just be."

He knew he should be somewhere else, doing something else and most likely being someone else. But for the next short while, he was himself and he was here with her. The explanations, justifications and consequences would come later.

Elissa lowered her head once again and nestled closer to him. He took in the warmth of her body against his, the scent of the healing poultices on her skin and the reverberating thud of her heartbeat. Slow and regular, it seemed to be synchronised with his own.

"Let's just be," he murmured in agreement as he tightened his arms around her.

For now, just being was enough.


	24. Damned Doors

_I don't know_.

The three words floated around her head as she stared listlessly out the window. Her world was at a slant as her head rested on Alistair's chest while he slept. The scratching presence of a single taint was an odd comfort. All that had sustained her in the depths of despair, she took a pleasure from having the sensation invade her mind in a way that had previously irritated her. Like much else, she had taken for granted just what it had meant. Always a brother-in-arms, quickly a friend and finally a lover; the taint had provided a constant connection between them. She had no wish to be without it now.

_Neither do I._

His response had been a surprise. It suggested that he too had doubts but whether those doubts were the same as hers, she could not tell. Yet lying next to him, hidden away, she felt more contented than she had been for such a long time. But the thought of what lay beyond that door, the expectations and the pressures and the never ending demands. That was still too much to bear.

Elissa shut her eyes as though having the strength to make such a simple gesture could banish the thoughts from her mind. She felt torn between pride and shame. Pride that the man who preferred to follow had led his country to victory. Shame that he had been forced to because of her own weakness. There seemed no easy way to reconcile the two.

And there was no easy way to avoid what she had demanded of him. Against his better judgement, he had let her go. Such devotion could be seen as warped but she chose to see it as how it had been intended. In his place, she doubted whether she would have been able to make the same decision.

But lying there, she finally found an answer to the question that had tormented her so.

_And_.

For him and because of him. It seemed so simple, lying here with no whispering doubts and none of the paralysing fear that all she had risked had been for nothing. That particular future had come and gone, been defeated and now she basked in the new-found serenity of the moment. Her thoughts had been for her own survival but she was able to appreciate now that even amongst her own desperate need to survive, she had known that she could not survive without him. The two intertwined in a way she had thought was a failing. Now, she could see it as realistic.

It was that new-found understanding that she did not want to die which forced some of the darkness back from her heart. Her despair remained the unwavering companion of late but the desire to end it all had passed. At least for the moment. She did not feel strong enough to promise it was banished forever. But for the moment was a step forward in itself.

Elissa opened her eyes again, her gaze focusing on the shadows across the floor which were slowly growing shorter as the sun rose higher in the sky. It was too much to hope for that they would continue to be left alone for much longer. Her heart beat a little faster as panic began to overwhelm her and she gripped at the material of his shirt, anxious that he not leave her.

Without missing a beat, Alistair's hand moved to covers hers. His fingers pushed against hers until she loosened her grip enough to allow him to intertwine his in between her own. Tilting her head, Elissa saw that although his eyes remained closed, his throat worked as he swallowed in an effort to coax his voice into life.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked eventually, voice gruff in spite of his attempts.

She gave a small shake of her head as she laid her head back where it had been resting. She didn't want to talk. Not yet. Talking would only bring all that lay on the other side of the door so much closer. Except rather than the expectations, pressures and demands of others, it would all be his. And after all that had happened, she knew she had no right to deny him any answer that he wished to have.

The real fear surfaced. Shame, guilt, despair. She had felt those ever since she had woken in the Chantry. But then she had been convinced that she would not leave the rooftop of the Fort. As difficult as it had been to bear, she had known her end would come soon. But now she was confronted with a different end. Of all the things they did not know and of all the ends that would have to be faced, she was terrified that what they had was already destroyed. It may not be visible now but the cracks would surely begin to show. And she had no right to make any demand for reassurance.

The inevitable knock she had been dreading came all too soon.

"Alistair?" The muffled sound of Eamon's voice travelled through from the other side.

With a groan, Alistair released his hold over Elissa's hand as he made to push himself into a sitting position. Elissa lay still as though frozen, her fingers pinching into his flesh and making him wince.

"Don't," she begged in a hoarse whisper. "Don't leave me."

He gently prised her grip off of him and manoeuvred her so that she lay down against the pillows. "I'm not leaving."

"Once you open that door, everything else will rush in. You won't be able to stop it. Please don't," she pleaded, seizing his wrists in a vice grip he wouldn't have thought possible in her weakened state and pulling them against her so that he was unable to move without being rough with her.

He chose not to resist but only leant forward and brushed a kiss across her lips. "We can't stay like this forever, love."

The knocking came again and Elissa shrunk back from the sound, casting a frantic look between the door and Alistair.

"Alistair!" Eamon sounded as though he was growing increasingly impatient and genteel courtesy was not going to prevent him from entering for much longer.

"Don't," she mouthed, too scared to even speak.

"You need to trust me," he said quietly, still not resisting as she clung onto him but his voice and gaze were steady. "Trust in me, love."

She stared up at him, wide-eyed with some impossible fear that she was still to find the strength to confide in him. Then with a convulsion rather than a voluntary release, her hands fell from his wrists. "I trust you."

He gave her a small smile before shuffling back off the bed and finding his feet. He moved to the door but out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Elissa as she cowered back against the pillow, huddling beneath the sheets. The helplessness he felt at being unable to reassure her caused a flash of unbidden anger and he wrenched open the door, struggling to contain the surge of fury at the unsuspecting cause of her most immediate distress.

Eamon gave a deliberate bow. "Your Majesty."

The pointed courtesy was enough to force Alistair to douse the majority of his inner flames. He stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him. "I'm sorry, Eamon. What is it?"

"How is the Warden?"

"She has no visible injuries," Alistair chose his words carefully.

"I am glad to hear it." Obligatory concern given and acknowledged, the Arl broached the real purpose of his personally conducted search for Alistair. "We must begin to discuss a means of recovering the city."

"Right now?"

"It has been a day, Alistair. I have done as much as I can but the presence of the King cannot be substituted."

"A day? We've slept a whole day?"

"A day and a half if you wish to be entirely accurate."

Alistair rubbed at his face with a groan and found the stubble across his jaw a testament to Eamon's claim. Thoughts which he had pushed aside in favour of being with Elissa, in favour of beginning the process by which his heart and soul could begin to be repaired now crowded into the forefront of his mind. "What about the others?"

The flash of unease across Eamon's face chilled any of the smouldering embers of his anger.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"Leliana will recover although there is significant damage both inside and out. The elf, dwarf and Qunari have been taking turns to organise and assist with the recovery efforts. But the Witch has vanished. No one has seen her since she was brought here for healing yesterday."

"What?"

"She seems to have disappeared. I have sent guards to find her but with not so much as a sighting, we have no idea where to look."

Alistair took a deep breath. Sleeping spell, indeed. His finger absent-mindedly turned the ring on his finger. "Call the guards back."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," was the short response. Alistair laid a hand back against the door. "I'll meet you in your study in a minute."

"I imagine you would like to clean up first," Eamon queried with a delicate tact.

"I imagine I would," Alistair sighed although the thought of being rid of the exertion of battle was appealing.

"I will send for water to be brought to _your_ rooms."

He caught the tone. "What does that mean?"

"Alistair, you cannot expect to be known to share a room with your fellow Warden."

He stared at the man in disbelief.

"There are ... implications."

"Implications?" he echoed, his voice deepening into a growl. "What implications?"

Emaon remained unflustered. "Your reaction would seem to suggest you know quite well what I'm talking about."

"What do people think..."

"It does not matter what they think. It only matters what can be proved," Eamon interrupted.

He rubbed at his eyes with the base of his palms. He should have listened to her and not opened the door.

"Where _is_ my room?" he muttered at last.

"I will send a servant to show you."

"It's in another part of the estate, isn't it." Worded as though a question, the flatness of the statement came through.

"Temptation is easier avoided when removed from reach."

"Just... send the servant," Alistair gritted his teeth. He should have listened to her and barricaded the door. "Where is Leliana? Is she awake?"

Eamon nodded and gestured to a door a little way down the corridor.

"Could you ask her to come and sit with Elissa?"

The Arl hesitated before shaking his head. "She is bed-bound, Alistair."

"What?" The blood drained from his face. "You said..."

"The mages are hopeful she will recover in time but her injuries are severe."

"Maker," his head fell into his hands.

"It could have been worse, Alistair," the older man reminded him.

"Yes, alright," he gave a short nod, turning back to Elissa's door. "I will find you."

"Of course, your Majesty," Eamon bowed again before turning on heel and striding down the hall.

Alistair retreated back into the room. Elissa stared at him from the bed, still curled in the same way a frightened child would be.

"I told you," she murmured, despair seeping from every pore as she read his expression. "It can't be stopped."

He hated that within only minutes of promising her that he wouldn't leave her, he was shown to be a liar. He hated that he was being forced apart from her before either were truly ready. And he hated that once again he had to entrust to another to look after her.

"I'm sorry, love," Alistair fumbled for the words and came up short. "I... I'll try to be quick."

He wasn't sure why he felt as if he was speaking yet another lie. But he saw from the way she slumped even further beneath the sheets that she heard the lie as well.

"I'll ask one of the mages to come and sit with you."

Elissa remained silent as she resumed her unseeing stare towards the window. It cut him deeper than any accusation she could have thrown at him.

As he slipped from the room once more, he offered her the only thing he had left to give. It took a moment for her to appreciate that in doing so he had given her the confirmation she so desperately craved. It was not the words themselves but the way he spoke them which convinced her. Quiet and undemanding, it was a simple statement that did not expect to be reciprocated because it remained forever constant.

"I love you."

* * *

><p>"Your coronation must be completed as soon as possible," Eamon announced almost as soon as Alistair entered the study.<p>

It took a moment for Alistair to wrench his thoughts from those he cared about to events he couldn't care less about. He had checked on Leliana after leaving Elissa's room. The Bard had been sleeping and the mage, the same one who had convinced him to heal Elissa, had shooed him out with a briskness he had both resented and appreciated. It seemed that in terms of healing, he was still very much the one to be commanded and it was a welcome reminder that in some cases at least, he was not expected to know all the answers.

A warning snarl from the Templar watching over her had reminded the mage who she was addressing and with a harried look at the Knight, she had proceeded to reassure Alistair in a whisper that Leliana would live. When he had asked for a mage to sit with Elissa, she had nodded and promised that another healer would be sent to the Hero of Ferelden momentarily.

At that, he had made to leave when the mage narrowed her eyes and seized hold of his arm, resting a hand over his eyes. With a disgruntled mutter, she held up a finger as signal that he wait while she turned and rifled through a small sack of vials that he could only assume were proof of Zevran's looting. Drawing out a small bottle filled with red healing potion, she pressed it into his hand and patted it in a manner that reminded him of Wynne despite this mage's younger years.

He had accepted the vial and asked her name. She had hesitated before telling him. _Liahn_. The Templar had made another disapproving noise at that and she whirled round, chastising the Knight with softly-spoken threats of what she would do if he woke her patient. Sensing that he was the cause of the apparent disruption between the two, Alistair had allowed himself to be ushered away by Eamon's servant who had appeared shortly after.

Now freshly washed and dressed, he had sought out Eamon as promised.

"The Landsmeet..." Alistair began, sitting in the seat Eamon gestured to.

"The Landsmeet was a necessity for the nobles but the people will require the decision to be ratified by the Chantry. You rule in the Maker's name, after all."

"Alright," Alistair conceded. "But I don't see how this addresses recovering the city?"

"Regaining order is as important as rebuilding," the Arl seemed distracted and Alistair watched with growing suspicion as the older man visibly braced himself for whatever point he needed to broach. "There is another matter."

"Oh?"

"Your betrothal."

Alistair blinked, thrown off guard. "Um... what?"

"Do you still intend on honouring your decision?"

"Honouring my decision?"

"If you wish, it could be overlooked. Dismissed as over eagerness to convince the Landsmeet," Eamon positioned himself behind his desk although he maintained eye contact with Alistair.

"_What?_"

"It was clear that Elissa's declaration caught you by surprise as much as did the Landsmeet. I take it this was not something she discussed with you before?"

"Why is it important?"

Eamon sighed, shuffling some papers in front of him. "There were rumours that Cailin intended to approach Empress Celene with a proposal."

Alistair eyed his would-be advisor, not following the seemingly abrupt turn in discussion. "And?"

"It could be prudent to explore the option further."

Alistair drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair in an effort to displace his quickening temper as he caught on to what Eamon was tiptoeing around. "Really."

"Yes. A marriage between you would ensure a lasting peace between Ferelden and Orlais."

"You sound like Loghain. Paranoid."

"The occupation is still widely remembered and Ferelden is on its knees. We rely too much on the good nature of our potential enemies."

The drumming became a constant drone as Alistair picked the pace up.

Eamon folded his arms as he regarded the scowling King in front of him; the same scowl he remembered from the man's childhood. "It would give Ferelden the political and economical security to rebuild. And Celene is not so much older than you. She is still likely to be able to bear children."

"I know what is expected of the Crown."

"Then you know you need to be practical, Alistair. How likely is it that Elissa can give you an heir?"

"Don't suggest that it will be her fault, we're both tainted."

"But the truth of the matter is that a non-tainted woman _may_ be able to bear you a child."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters very much. Your own taint means that you have a limited time on the throne. An heir is paramount."

"I understand that," Alistair retorted with a vehemence that was unusual but he felt trapped and had no other way of defending himself. He forced himself to look at the man who represented his family, "but you have no idea what you're asking of me."

"Yes." Eamon's expression softened. "I know you love her."

"Then you must know I can't do what you want."

"It is not that you can't, it is that you won't. And it is not what I want but what is for the best," Eamon insisted on being pedantic.

Alistair shrugged. Semantics aside, his answer remained a resolute no.

"I don't doubt you love her, Alistair," the Arl continued quietly. "But it will not be enough. Sometimes loving someone is just not enough. But if you won't consider Celene then look at these."

The older man leant across the desk and proffered the bundle of papers he had been shuffling. Alistair accepted them unwillingly, leafing through them with not so much as feigned interest. Contained on the sheets were extensive family histories, all ending with eligible girls.

Alistair rose from his chair and began to pace, still looking through the papers. When he spoke, his tone was ice cold. "You have been busy, Eamon. Someone might almost believe this was written not long after your recovery."

"It is a simple matter to regurgitate family trees when your own family is part of the fabric of Ferelden," the Arl dismissed the implicit accusation. "It may be that there are deaths which I have not accounted for."

The callous nature of the comment caused Alistair to jerk his head up and give Eamon a hard look.

"A marriage is an opportunity to strengthen political ties. Allying yourself with any one of these families will improve your control over Ferelden," Eamon hesitated but having come so far, committed himself. "Bryce Cousland is dead. Elissa wields no power or influence within Ferelden except that which is loaned her from her deceased father's name."

"Elissa gave up her name and title when she became a Grey Warden," the younger man murmured absent-mindedly as if the small fact was as important as the point being made.

"As did you, my King. And yet here we are," came the dry response.

Alistair finally came to a stop in front of the fireplace. "Aren't you going to tell me that since she's given up her title, she's no longer a noble and I can't marry her?"

"I could but her blood speaks otherwise."

"Blood. Always blood," Alistair mused. "Do you think that's why the Grey Wardens insist on renouncing claims? Because the taint travels through the blood and destroys all it touches, inside and out."

"Alistair..." Eamon gave a long-suffering sigh, mistaking the question for flippancy. "It does not matter."

"Yes, it does. It's the whole point..."

"The point is that you have been acknowledged as King, whether that fits in with your own personal wishes or not. The point is that your understanding of duty means you will not allow your country to fall into civil war, whether that fits in with your own personal wishes or not. The point is that you need a woman who will give you an heir, whether that fits in with your personal wishes or not. The point is," Eamon took a deep breath, "that Elissa Cousland stands in your way of achieving all this."

The mounting tension between the men reached a height. With a very deliberate movement, Alistair lifted the first page of the papers. Staring straight at Eamon, willing the older man to confront his actions, he slowly scrunched it into a ball in his fist before throwing it into the fire.

The Arl clenched his fists at his side but chose not to react further. Both men stared wordlessly at each other while Alistair dutifully fed each and every paper into the fire until the entire sheaf was gone. Hands empty once more; he folded his arms and waited.

It took a few minutes before Eamon felt able to speak with the level-head that was needed.

"As you wish, my King," he leant forward in a brief bow. "If you are yet to realise that you must think of Ferelden rather than yourself, have you at least considered what it will mean for Elissa to marry you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The Arl rubbed at his forehead. It was a movement reminiscent of when he had had to defend the boy from the harsh words and irrational arguments of Isolde. "It will be her shame to bear, not yours. Hero or otherwise, when she cannot produce your heir then the rumours will begin. Opinion will begin to turn as people fear for their futures, futures they entrust you with, and pressure will mount. She will bear the brunt of it. There will be some murmurs against you but your Theirin blood will protect you for the most part."

"It doesn't matter..."

"You say that now. And it won't matter, not at first. But slowly, it will creep into her mind and you will be forced to watch as the desperate need consumes her," it was Eamon's turn to pace. "You'll feel her pain at the disappointment at each of her cycles but there will be nothing you can say or do. Even though you hurt, you will have to stand by and let her cope alone because you can't find the words which won't belittle her own grief. Soon, she will be defined entirely by her inability to give you an heir. And eventually all you can do is pray that the Maker will find it in his heart to bless you with a child because suddenly the fulfilment of that desperate need which is driving you both apart has become the only solution." The older man's voice had dropped further and further until it was quiet reflection. "And you'll finally realise that it does actually matter. It matters very much. To you, to her and to everyone else."

Alistair remained quiet, understanding the painful experience from which Eamon spoke.

The Arl sensed that he had struck a cord and pressed home his advantage. "You will be stronger without her."

The flash of recognition which passed across Alistair's face was not what Eamon had expected. It was followed by a stillness which filled the younger man as he answered in an unnervingly calm manner. "I will not be without her."

"Consider what I have said. Think hard, Alistair. Would you see Elissa and her reputation destroyed simply for your own selfish desires? She is the Grey Warden who defeated the Fifth Blight. She will be well-loved by the people and honoured by her fellows Wardens. Are you the one to take that from her?" Eamon bowed, sensing that he had pushed his argument too far for the moment and that the conversation had reached its end. "In the meantime, we must look at how best to re-establish trade routes..."

While Eamon turned effortlessly to the most pressing economical issues that needed to be addressed, Alistair was given no time to argue with the man. He nodded without word to Eamon's prattle as a numbness stole through his mind. The only thought he could hold onto was the most inane.

He should have barricaded that damned door.


	25. Heirs and Graces

He was a liar and a coward.

Alistair sat hunched over the desk in Eamon's study, forehead resting on his arms and his eyes closed as he tried to ignore the pounding of his temples. Various papers were scattered around him. Most were routine orders authorising an assortment of uses of Crown goods and money as a means of aiding the recovery of Denerim. Only waiting for his approval since Eamon had already discussed each and every one with him, there was nothing strenuous to the task and certainly nothing that could not wait another night. But if he pretended that the documents were of urgent importance then perhaps he could fool himself that he did not have to go bed. And if he could persuade himself of that then the question of which bed he should go to would not have to be answered.

Eamon had made no further comment about Elissa or an heir but Alistair had little doubt that it was not through any compassion on the Arl's part. The sheer volume of details and issues which the Arl presented him with had absorbed both men's attention for the remainder of the day. Eamon had at least been patient with him as they worked, explaining each problem, its implications and then offering a solution. Eventually Eamon had taken pity on the inexperienced monarch and suggested they take a walk through the city to clear his head. Alistair had readily agreed but found himself regretting his keenness as the Arl's ulterior motives became apparent. Paraded through the streets under the guise of overseeing the instructions Eamon had already issued, the only benefit was that Alistair had at least been able to speak briefly with Oghren and Zevran. Sten had remained taciturn as always but the Qunari had at the least acknowledged him. The sign of begrudging respect was hard won but Alistair had resented it as another reminder of how things had changed for and between them all.

But there had been an unexpected advantage to Eamon's charade. Very much their Hero, their gratitude and concern for Elissa overrode any sense of propriety and the people goaded one another on until a few brave souls had addressed him directly with their concern for her. Murmuring that she was recovering, there had been a mixture of responses from a squeeze of the hand to a grateful prayer to the Maker. With each kind word for her, his smile had grown warmer and his response less stilted. Witnessing the change in the demeanour of their King, their confidence had grown and interspersed between platitudes for Elissa were shy congratulations and good wishes for their betrothal. With each remark, Eamon's expression had grown increasingly disapproving and he had intonated that perhaps it was time to return to the estate. With a sense of reluctance, Alistair had bowed to the older man's pressure and excused himself from the centre of the crowd. But the warm sense of relief that whatever the Arl had initially thought, it would not be a simple matter for their betrothal to be dismissed allowed him to meet the brewing storm on Eamon's face without flinching.

Not that it was the betrothal itself which was the real issue. Eamon himself had acknowledged Elissa's bloodline. It was the heir. And he was not so foolish that he could not appreciate the logic of Eamon's argument. The problem was that he had no wish to be logical. Even so, Eamon's words continued to echo around his head and now finally left to his own devices as the sun vanished below the city walls behind him, he found himself dreading the thought of returning to Elissa. And he felt a deep hatred towards Eamon settle in the pit of his stomach for that.

With just one short conversation, the Arl had stolen any peace he found being at her side. And not because the conversation had changed how he felt about her but because it had served to highlight even further the strength of his feeling for her. But by continuing with their relationship, he would threaten to destroy them both let alone the country they had risked all to protect.

Eamon had not spoken of it but both men were aware of the potential solution. He found it to be a bitter reality that as King he was expected to provide an example to his people and yet a betrayal of himself, his future wife and their vows taken in front of the Maker could and would be tolerated if necessary. No. There would be no mistress and no bastard child, demon or otherwise, to provide an escape from the already restrictive reality of his new role. But then to make such a decision only seemed to cause the problem to wrap itself all the more tighter around him. It made no sense to fight against the inevitability that he and Elissa would be unable to conceive an heir. With all that they were faced with, perhaps it was better to break apart, take comfort from what had been and allow each other to go their separate ways.

No, there had to be another way. Maker, he would find another way. Please.

The sudden burst of resolution prompted Alistair to sit up and push away the darker thoughts that he could already sense on the periphery of his mind. He rubbed at his eyes and took a steadying breath, picking up a paper at random and squinting at the writing in the dim light of the candles.

The spluttering of the flames as the door was thrown open only served to hamper his attempt further and he looked up to be met with the sight of a dishevelled Zevran. Normally cool and collected, the elf was breathing heavily with his armour caked in dust and his face streaked with dirt.

"Zevr..."

"The Orlesian Grey Wardens are at the city gates. They are..." the elf tried to steady his breathing while he was searched for a word to accurately convey the reason for his current state. Failing to find a suitably ornate phrasing, he settled for, "Discontented."

Alistair cursed under his breath, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. Eamon had mentioned that some messages had arrived during the chaos before the Horde had attacked Denerim, including the news that with Loghain's death the borders had opened and that the Grey Wardens were travelling to Denerim. No further message had been sent or at the very least, received. On top of all else, Alistair did not relish the task of telling them that Riordan had died.

"I thought you would be interested," Zevran nodded.

"Come with me," Alistair stalked out the room, gesturing that the elf fall into step with him. "Do you know anything else?"

"No," Zevran had to lengthen his stride to keep pace with the man. "I came here as soon as I heard."

The maze of corridors between Eamon's study and the entrance hall seemed to stretch on. But their quick pace meant that even if the time seemed longer, the time taken to cover it was shorter. As they neared the hall, a servant crossed their path and Alistair called out to him. The young elven boy balked at the sound of the man's voice and froze, casting eyes to the floor as he waited for the reprimand he expected.

Alistair threw a helpless look at Zevran who just shrugged.

"Uh... it's alright. You're not in trouble," Alistair tried to reassure him. "Do you know if the Grey Wardens have arrived?"

The elf gave a small nod. "They are waiting to be received. I'm to inform the Arl."

"It's alright, you don't need to bother Eamon. I'll speak with them," Alistair ran a distracted hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Would you see that food is made available for them in the hall?"

The boy bowed and scuttled away towards the kitchens.

Alistair drew himself up and took a brief moment to gain some composure. Zevran watched the obvious effort with some amusement, arms crossed across his chest as he himself exuded an outward calm that was the result of years of practice. His breathing had stilled and aside from the dirt which remained on his armour and skin, there was no outward sign that the elf was affected by his companion's anxiety.

Stepping through the door, Alistair felt as the six pairs of eyes bored into him. Three humans, two dwarves and an elf. All men and all shared the same aura of self-confidence which both Duncan and Riordan had possessed. Suddenly very aware of his own status as the second-newest Ferelden recruit, Alistair desperately looked for some sign that would help him identify who the commanding Warden was.

"Our greetings to you, Warden," one of the dwarves stepped forward and offered a hand. "I am Argarth, one of the Warden-Commanders in Orlais." He gestured at the elf who was studying Alistair intensely. "This is my Second, Torih." The elf acknowledged his Commander's introduction with the slightest incline of his head.

"You're very welcome," Alistair looked to all members of the group as he extended his courtesy. "I can't promise the greatest hospitality but we'll try our best."

"Any small amount of generosity will be welcome after our journey," Argarth completed the necessary parlay of manners.

"I've asked one of the servants to send some food to the hall. If you would..." Alistair began but trailed off as Torih began to fidget, shifting on his feet and shooting a look at Argarth that was clearly intended as a demand of some kind. The tension between Commander and his Second caused the remaining Wardens to glance between themselves. There was the smallest movement as Argarth shook his head and the elf gave a muffled growl of displeasure.

With a heavy sigh at his Second's blatant indiscretion, the dwarven Commander turned to Alistair. "Where is the other Warden?"

"She is resting," Alistair tried to hide how the behaviour of the elf was unsettling him.

"But she is alive?" Torih demanded before Argarth could speak.

"Yes." The caginess of his response did not go unnoticed and the elf bristled.

"If she is alive then we must speak with her. Now," he hissed at the dwarf.

Argarth held up a hand to quieten him. "My apologies, Alistair. We have much to discuss and Torih is not one for patience." His jaw clenched as he shot a silent order to the elf. "It is late. We can discuss everything in greater detail tomorrow."

For different reasons, both Torih and Alistair gave a reluctant nod in agreement.

"Now, you mentioned food?" the dwarf enquired.

"Uh, yes," Alistair signalled one of the guards standing near the doorway. "Will you show the Wardens to the main hall? And will you ask for rooms to be made ready for them? The ones nearest mine are empty."

The guard saluted and the group of Wardens fell into step behind him. Argarth lingered behind for a few moments. "Torih is right in that there is much to be explained. Can I expect a full report from you tomorrow?"

"Of course," Alistair responded to the air of authority with which the dwarf spoke.

Argarth clapped Alistair on the shoulder before moving to join Torih who had stopped in the doorway to wait for his Commander. Both elf and dwarf vanished from sight and Alistair allowed himself to breathe again. Turning back from watching after the small contingent, Alistair caught Zevran's eye. The look of distrust etched on Zevran's face echoed Alistair's own suspicions.

"What do you think?" he asked the elf.

"Perhaps it would be advisable to check between your shoulder blades for a knife?"

Alistair snorted, massaging his temples. "So you got that feeling too?"

"It seems my distrustful nature is rubbing off on you," Zevran allowed himself a sly grin. "I am glad to see something of mine has."

The grimace which greeted the statement caused the elf to laugh outright. "Alistair, we must keep our sense of humour, no?"

"Let's just keep your sense of humour separate from mine, shall we?"

Zevran gave a dramatic sigh but obediently turned his attention back to the point in hand. "Perhaps we are overly suspicious."

"Maybe," Alistair studied the doorway through which the Wardens had vanished as though he could determine the hidden intent simply from studying the space through which they had passed. "Where's the Guard-Captain? Actually, who is the Guard-Captain?"

"Don't worry, I'll go find him. What are your orders?"

"I want two guards posted outside Elissa's room, on a constant rotation. None of the Wardens are to enter her room."

"As you wish," Zevran bowed to him before heading towards the main doors.

As the elf disappeared into the night, Alistair turned and deliberately headed away from the main hall. A few months ago he would have eagerly chosen to join the Wardens but the need to evade the details of recent events required more energy than he had right now. He really needed to go to bed.

With a rueful sigh, he discovered that the unexpected arrival of the Grey Wardens had at least helped him address one problem. He had finally decided on which bed to go to.

* * *

><p>Standing at the window with the night breeze drifting across her face, Elissa felt the telltale scratch of the taint even before Alistair knocked on the door. Her slight movement as she turned towards the door in expectation caused the mage to look up from the healing poultices she was crafting in the corner of the room.<p>

The knock which came was soft and the mage rose to answer it. The various candles dotted about the room spurted in the draught and some blew out as a murmured conversation went on between the mage and Alistair, though he was yet to enter into the room.

The woman looked towards Elissa who gave a small nod, guessing that the mage was seeking clarification as to whether he should be allowed in or not. With a small nod, the woman stepped away from the door and gathered up her various herbal ingredients. She spared a smile for Elissa before she left. "I will see you in the morning, Warden."

Without waiting for a response, the mage slipped from the room, nimbly manoeuvring around Alistair who had stepped in. As he closed the door, more of the candles blew out and the room was left in an odd gloom that was interspersed by small flares of light and the dull glow from the embers of the fire.

Still at the window, Alistair crossed the room and curled his arms around her while his chin rested on the top of her head. There was a small thrill through her body as his arms provided a barrier of warmth against the coolness of the night air. She leant into him and they stood in silence for a while.

The peace in the room was disturbed by metallic clink of armour plating echoing from the corridor outside. The eligible daughter of a wealthy Teyrn, it was a noise that was not unfamiliar. For whatever reason, there were now guards outside her door. The lack of reaction from Alistair revealed that he had expected and was waiting for the telltale sounds which confirmed the execution of his orders.

Elissa wrestled out of his hold. Holding him at arm's length, she searched his face for a clue as to what was happening. "Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, love," he made to draw her back against him but she dodged his touch and retreated from him. Her legs came up against the side of the bed and she stumbled back against it, sitting down abruptly.

He was lying. More than that, he was lying to her.

Elissa studied him as best she was able in the dim light. He had stayed next to the window, aware that he was the source of her anxiety even if he did not fully understand why. Framed as a silhouette against the clear night sky, the tension that now flooded his body was evident. None of the relaxed ease with which he usually held himself, even the way he titled his head as he watched her was oddly controlled.

He was struggling. And he was trying to hide it from her.

Elissa chewed at her lip. It would be so easy to accept what he was telling her. What did it matter if armed guards had been placed at her door on his order so long as they remained on _that_ side of the door. It was no longer her responsibility to worry about what happened on _that_ side of the door.

But _he_ wasn't on _that_ side of the door.

Tentatively she pushed herself off the bed and took a half step towards him but the thought of knowing exactly what was wrong and then the inevitability of having to do something once she knew made her stomach heave and she ground to a halt once more. What use was there to her knowing? There was little that she could offer; her mind was too shattered to provide any type of solution so perhaps there was no point in pushing the matter.

But then it was not the matter itself that truly concerned her; it was the effect it was having on him.

Closing the gap between them in a rush so as to prevent any further doubts, she wrapped her arms around him and willed the tension from his body to diffuse through her. Surprised by the sudden intensity of her response, he snaked his arms around her waist and rested his hands against the small of his back in the same way he had done whenever they were alone in camp. But the intimate familiarity of the movement was disrupted by the stilted way he leant down and placed a self-conscious kiss on her cheek instead of pulling her against him as he had always done.

The conflicting messages confused her. This from the man who had still told her he loved her even as she had attempted to distance herself even further from him? The tickle of his breath against her ear sent a shiver up her back and she turned her face upwards as he made to straighten. The movement caused him to hesitate and she took advantage of it, tilting her head and drawing him into a kiss. Her touch was gentle this time without the frantic desperation that had motivated her on the rooftop. Her tongue lightly traced across his bottom lip and if she hadn't already suspected, the odd mixture of reluctant eagerness with which he allowed his own to find hers spoke more than anything else.

Partly to test him further and partly because the rediscovery of a connection to him was difficult to resist, her hand wound up towards his neck and drew him harder against her. Even as she felt the small beat of the pulse beneath his ear quicken, his response to her kiss became even more restrained and the confirmation of the contradictory signals forced her to pull away. Stopping only inches from his face, she searched it intently as she finally forced herself to challenge his lie. "Yes, there is."

Her insistence was rewarded by a weary half smile as Alistair gave up the pretence. He moved past her and sank down on the bed with a heavy sigh. Seeing him so closed off while he dealt with whatever demons were haunting him, she had a small flavour of the pain he must have felt each time she had shut him out from the increasingly heavy burden she felt resting on her shoulders.

At a loss, Elissa settled next to him with her feet trailing back and forth over the cold flagstones. Her small toe caught a rough edge and she stifled a hiss at the sting, drawing her legs up to examine the cut.

"What's wrong?" he turned his gaze from his hands to her foot.

"A cut," she muttered, wiping away the small bead of blood with the back of her hand. Her hand stilled as she examined the smear.

"What is it?"

"I did the same, that night. Well actually it was against the edge of the fireplace. I was pacing, got out of rhythm, stubbed my toe," the triviality of the subject freed her tongue. "Hurt like hell."

The splutter of laughter warmed her even more than the arm he voluntarily laid across her shoulders. "Pushed through, did you?"

The smile that had almost reached her face faded. She fixed a hard stare on her toe. "Must've."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, seeming to prise them even further apart.

"We need to talk about what happened," Alistair found the courage to bridge the gulf. "Maybe not now but we need to talk. About... everything."

It took her a few moments before she was certain that the words would not stick in her throat and suffocate her. "Now. Let's do it now."

He turned to eye her. "It's late, love."

"Either we talk about what happened or we talk about what's worrying you now."

Alistair shook his head. "It's nothing that can be solved tonight."

"Then let it go until morning," she placed a hand on his knee.

There was a long sigh before a nod. "Alright. Us, it is."

Elissa swallowed, her partial bluff called. She agreed that it needed to be done but in truth she wasn't sure she was ready to talk. But then what time would be right to explain all that she had to? In an attempt to gather herself, she moved from the bed and snuffed out the remaining candles until only the embers of the fire provided any light.

Disorientated, she shuffled back towards him with arms partly outstretched. Alistair caught hold of her and guided her back to her seat next to him. Enveloped in the dark, with only the sound of his breathing and the gentle touch of his hand resting on her leg to remind her that she was not alone, it was as easy as it was ever going to be.

Elissa took a deep breath. "I should probably start..."

* * *

><p>Alistair lay with his eyes closed and Elissa nestled against him in the crook of his arm. The cool edge to the night had eventually forced them beneath the bedding and they huddled together in an effort to regain the heat that had slowly been stolen away from them as they had talked.<p>

It had been an odd discussion. Conducted with a sense of inevitability which helped them both to keep their tempers from exploding or their guilt from overwhelming them, there had been no raised voices or tears. Yet the anger and resentment had been palpable; on both sides. Months of unresolved tensions that neither had even really been aware of, too caught up in the tumultuous events that had reached into every part of their lives and snatched away any sense of routine, were suddenly laid painfully bare. Frustration and exasperation at habits and traits that had become ingrained in each of them; hurt and betrayal at the overlooked or unnoticed needs from both sides; guilt and shame of the failures each had committed to the other.

And then finally a mutual acceptance. Unremarkable and unannounced, the sense of it washed over them and cleansed the last of the doubts and fears from them. Acceptance that mistakes had been made, acceptance that each had regrets and acceptance that forgiveness and understanding would take more than one night of soul baring.

It was the closest he had felt to her and he hated it.

"Love," the word was whispered in his ear as Elissa twisted from her position next to him.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and made a face as he squinted against the very early light of dawn. Elissa had her hand poised over his chest about to shake him from the sleep she thought he was in.

"It's morning," she added, seeing his eyes open.

The revelation was met with a muffled groan. "Barely."

She did smile at that. "Close enough. Tell me, love."

"Tell you what?"

"Whatever problem you need to solve."

It was the closest he had felt to her and he hated that it was being twisted and corrupted by the dark repercussions Eamon had created in his mind. Even while he had reached out to her with heart and soul, he had heard the poisonous whispers from deep in the back of his mind remind him that unless he could find a way to allay Eamon's fears then he would have to find a way to wrench himself apart from her.

"No."

The briefest flare of anger streaked across her face at his resolute refusal. It was reminiscent of the temper he had once or twice been on the wrong side of but it vanished almost before he had time to register it. He was sure that Elissa herself had not been aware of it.

"Please don't bear this alone," she murmured.

Alistair brushed his nose against hers and caught her in a quick kiss. He did not doubt that she would not miss the deliberate avoidance but he hoped she would overlook it.

"Well," she glanced towards the window then back at him with a grudging smile. "I suppose it is a bit early."

"It is. It's very early. It's extremely early. It's so early that it's late," he nodded solemnly.

"Not quite," the grudging smile bloomed into a genuine one as she gently teased him. "It's just as well you didn't become a Templar. There would be a daily exodus from the Circle before breakfast."

Alistair felt a grin surface on his face. "Mages, they're wily."

The smile on her face faded as the mention of the Circle and its mages brought an immediate association of Wynne to both of them.

Elissa sat up, drawing the sheets closer around her as she stared down at Alistair. "The mages told me about the others. They said Morrigan is missing."

"She came and checked on you before she left."

The silence which followed the statement confirmed his suspicion that Elissa had known Morrigan had always intended to leave.

"I'm glad she was there for you," she murmured at last, sneaking a tentative look towards him. "I... wasn't sure."

"On some things, we see eye to eye."

Her gaze flickered to the ring on his hand and her fingers reached out and traced the arch of it. "She didn't mention that. Do you know what it is?"

"I guessed it was enchanted."

Elissa gave a little nod but didn't expand further. "Make sure to keep it safe, love." In the brief pause before he could respond, she squeezed his hand and seized on the chance to divert the topic away from the Witch and the child she carried. "Tell me about Leliana."

"I haven't spoken to her. She was sleeping when I checked on her yesterday."

"All they would say is that it will take her a long time to recover," the catch in her voice betrayed how close she was to tears. "They wouldn't let me see her." She raised her head towards the door, a pained expression contorting her features and causing a few stray tears to trickle down her cheek. "Not that I tried."

Alistair sat up and caught her face in his hands. He gently kissed the tears away, tasting the salt from her skin as he did so. "Then maybe it's time we visited her."

"I can't..."

"Elissa."

The sheer terror that flashed across her face at the thought of being forced to confront whatever inescapable horror she believed existed outside the door felt like a knife in his heart. To anyone else it would seem to be ridiculous but the knowledge of his complicity in at least one potential horror gnawed at him and ripped the cut even wider. But if he failed to find a way through this then he had to know that she would have someone. And of the two others he trusted implicitly to watch over her, only one remained within his reach.

"Together, love. Come on," he coaxed her.

"She... she'll be asleep..."

"If I'm up then everyone's up," he forced himself to inject some humour into an increasingly tense atmosphere.

Elissa was too distracted to respond although she permitted him to take her hand. With reassuring murmurs that even he was too anxious to pay much attention to, he guided her to the door. Opening it, the two guards turned in surprise but were quick to salute. At their mark of respect, he felt her tug against him as she tried to overcome the urge to run back to the safety of the bed. Alistair tightened his grip and moved out into the hall as Elissa practically tripped across the threshold of the doorway. He caught the bemused looks of the guards as they bore witness to the strange battle of wills that was being fought out in front of them.

In the seemingly endless stretch of hallway, the frailty of the Hero of Ferelden was marked. Shaking and pale wit blood on her lip where she had bitten down too hard, there was a wild look in her eye that caused a surge of fear to course through him. Her nails dug into his hand as she searched constantly for the beginnings of the nightmare which she believed would consume her. It seemed an age that they stood, watched by the guards, while she adjusted to the stillness that was the reality. Gradually her grip loosened and her shoulders lowered as she began to breathe more readily. Alistair took the break in the internal storm to persuade her further down the corridor towards Leliana's room. He decided against knocking and instead pushed open the door.

Inside the room, Liahn rose to her feet with a whispered objection on the tip of her tongue at the invasion of her patient's space but stopped as she recognised Alistair. Her gaze moved past his face, down his arms and to the owner of the hand that was enclosed in his. Seeing Elissa, the mage moved to intercept them both.

"This could have waited until both were stronger," Liahn snapped at Alistair although the need to speak in hushed tones to prevent waking Leliana diluted much of the rebuke.

"How is she?" Elissa was fixated on the sight of the sleeping Bard lying in the bed, her own distress forgotten through the security of being surrounded by closed walls again.

"There is internal damage to her hands and feet that I can't repair," Liahn glanced between Elissa and Alistair. "Her face will be badly scarred as well."

Alistair winced as Elissa's nails dug into the small cuts they had made only a few minutes earlier but save for the small movement, she remained impassive.

"She has been asking for you," Liahn continued.

"Has she?" Elissa tore her gaze away from Leliana only long enough to assess whether the mage was telling the truth.

"If you wish, you may stay but you must allow her to sleep."

Elissa made no response and he sensed her conflict between wishing to remain with him and wanting to be at the side of her friend.

"Go on, love," he gave an encouraging murmur and she glanced at him. "I'll come by later and check on you both."

Still distracted, Elissa gave an obedient nod and released his hand. As she moved towards the chair beside the bed, he turned to Liahn who held up a hand in anticipation of what he was going to say.

"I will watch over them both," she promised.

"Thank you."

With a lingering glance towards Elissa, he stepped out the door. Signalling that the guards take their position outside Leliana's door, Alistair began to make his way towards the rooms Eamon had given him. Seeing the effect that simply leaving her room had had on Elissa, there was a renewed desperation to keep her at his side. He had to find a way through this that did not rest on a hope and prayer. How, he still had no idea. But he had to. It was as simple as that.

But first, the Grey Wardens.


	26. Darkspawn and Politics

Poring over some tattered documents that contained long-held secrets written in faded inky scratchings, the Orlesian Warden-Commander was disturbed by the entrance of his Second. Normally silent, there was a soft clatter as the elf misjudged the gap between door and doorframe. Swearing at himself, it took Torih a minute or two to find his balance again.

Argarth leant back in his chair, feet kicking out under the small table as he stretched the hours of study from his frame. The dwarf blinked a few times as he forced his eyes to refocus from squinting over the vellum to studying the elf. "Well?"

A faint stench of ale and vomit spread throughout the room. The elf's feet were planted squarely beneath him but his upper body swayed as though he was caught in a breeze. He had to clear his throat before he spoke and when he did, it was in a throaty growl that confirmed the elf had been diligent in his duty to scout out the noise-filled taverns. "There are many rumours. Fortunately I was able to track down the dwarf. It took some effort but I finally poured enough drink down his throat to free his tongue."

"A feat indeed, Torih," Argarth made no attempt to hide his smirk as the elf's lip curled ever so slightly at the memory of a drunken Oghren.

"Unfortunately the Antivan Crow found us before I could interrogate him on all the details," the sneer became more pronounced. "He was quick to intervene."

"If you had held your own tongue earlier then you may have had more success," Argarth took pity on his Second and gestured that the elf sit on the bed since there were no other chairs save the one he was sitting on. "What did you learn?"

"The rumours are exaggerated but grounded in truth. There was one thing of particular interest," Torih sat on the edge of the bed, a hand outstretched to one of the corner bedposts as he readjusted to the change in his centre of gravity. "The female did not travel with the army. The dwarf talked of Riordan and the bastard but not her."

"A tenuous detail, at best."

"No," the elf argued with a shake of his head before grasping at his stomach as the movement made him feel nauseous. He took a few breaths before continuing, "he did not mention her at all until I asked about the Archdemon. He confirmed that it was she who made the killing blow."

Argarth sat up, his legs moving back beneath the chair as he hunched over the table once more and rifled through some of the papers in front of him. Peering at one in particular, he skimmed the contents then looked up with a frown. "Are you certain, Torih?"

"Yes."

"That is unexpected."

Torih swallowed as he fought the urge to vomit in his Commander's bed. "What?"

"With Alistair's... history... I would have accepted his survival more readily. But her," the dwarf shook his head, "there is no precedent which would explain her survival."

"Hi...history?" the elf asked, interest piqued but noticeably paler than usual. He pushed himself off the bed and took a few uncertain steps so that he stood beside the window.

"Yes," Argarth offered no further details and Torih was forced to be satisfied with the scraps of the intriguing titbit his Commander had dangled in front of him.

The dwarf made to speak again but stopped as both he and Torih sensed the arrival of another tainted being close by. Torih made to move towards the door but Argarth waved him back to the window as he clambered to his feet. He hesitated in expectation of a knock but when none came, he moved to the wall which was shared with the adjacent room and absent-mindedly ran a hand across it. "He has returned to his room. Strange, I had expected more resistance."

"Perhaps he believes that he can distract us if he cooperates."

"Yes. And it is the woman he wishes to distract us from," Argarth dropped his hand from the wall and turned back to face the elf. "Everything would appear to focus on her."

"There is too much that is uncertain," Torih muttered, rubbing at his forehead. "There was more I wished to press the dwarf on."

"I doubt you will have the chance to loosen his tongue again," Argarth remarked with a snort. "The Antivan will be watching you too closely."

"There are others and the Crow cannot be everywhere at once," Torih frowned and the pressure of his fingers pushing against his temples increased as he attempted to grapple with his thoughts even through the ale-fuelled haze that was enveloping his mind. "The human will not expect that I attend his debriefing. It may be that I can gain access to the woman while you occupy him. At the very least, I should be able to search out more answers."

"Agreed," Argarth conceded. "Go rest, I imagine there is a little time before he will seek me out. When I summon Korgik to come and record the account, I will ask him to wake you."

Torih gave a very small bow and with a poorly concealed relief headed towards the door. Before he could leave however, Argarth called him back. "And Torih, make sure you use more discretion or I will skin you like the knife-eared nug you are."

The elf bristled but nodded and made his escape from the room he was finding increasingly suffocating.

Left alone once more, Argarth looked back to his small collection of antiquated documents and grunted to himself. Before leaving for Ferelden he had had the presence of mind to request the scant records that were kept regarding the defeat of the previous Blights but nothing in the papers provided any clue as to how he was to deal with this particular mess.

Darkspawn and politics; all in one Blight. Ancestors preserve him.

"One problem at a time," the dwarf muttered under his breath. He strode back to the table and threw himself back in the chair. Pushing aside the documents concerned with the Archdemon and the necessary sacrifice, Argarth turned his attention to a single sheet of vellum. Examining the near indistinguishable scrawl that was written across it for the countless time that night, the brevity of the contents emphasised the absolute nature of the oath it described. Its presence in the Warden-Commander's hands bode ill for the so-called Grey Warden King who was about to be educated as to what renouncing all claims actually meant.

* * *

><p>Alistair moved around the room, muttering short curses under his breath. Eamon had given him the best room in the estate but it felt cold and unwelcoming. The still-burning pyres outside the city walls provided the acrid smell he was accustomed to from the camp fire but he missed the familiar crackle of the flames, the low hum of various voices around the campsite and the occasional bark from the Mabari which all told him he was home. Already he missed the ready company that came with travelling in a group, the sense of friendship that was forged through necessity rather than choice and the feeling of security that whatever else they were to one another, he was as much a part of it as any of them.<p>

The murmuring presence of unfamiliar taints inside his skull only served to emphasise the change. As did the fact that he now had a wardrobe, even sparsely filled as it was. He had become used to having the full extent of his clothing being on his person especially towards the end when supplies were low and any resource had to be used. So now, changed into fresh clothing in the hope it would convince his body that he had actually slept, Alistair encountered the disorientating feeling of having no idea what to do with his dirty laundry. Balling it up, he threw it into a corner of the room and made a mental note to deal with it later. Then with a last lingering look towards the crisply made bed, the only thing which did look inviting, Alistair forced himself to turn his back on it and leave the room.

Pulling the door shut behind him, he cast an absent-minded look along the corridor and caught sight of the Orlesian elf vanishing into a room further down. Muttering empty threats as a means of trying to dispel the uneasy feeling the elf gave him, Alistair headed for the kitchens. He was determined that he would at least be well fed if not rested when he was interrogated by the Grey Wardens.

He made it as far as the main hall before a servant crossed his path. Initially intent on dodging past him, she pulled up short as she realised who it was she had almost brushed past. Dropping a curtsy, she began to address him. "Yo... your Maj..."

Alistair held up a hand, signalling that she gather her breath before continuing. With an obedient nod, she drew in a few gulps of air before brandishing a letter at him.

Unimpressed by the apparent innocuousness of a simple letter, he made to side-step her. "Take it to the Arl's study, I'll look at it later."

"It's for the Hero of Ferelden," the girl moved in step with him so he was unable to push past. "The messenger said it was urgent but the guards wouldn't let me give it to her."

"For Elissa?" That did catch his attention and Alistair came to a halt. He held out his hand and the girl passed him the dirty scrap of vellum. Hardly a letter, there was no seal and it was folded three times in a poor attempt to mask the contents. Mud and grime obscured much of its surface with only title and name written on one side. Yet he doubted that there would be much confusion over exactly which _Grey Warden Elissa Cousland_ it was intended for. The curve of the letters, if somewhat shaky, suggested that the sender was educated.

Alistair glanced up at the girl as he turned the letter over in his hands. "What else did the messenger say?"

"That was all," the girl shrugged.

"Alright. I'll see she gets it."

She curtsied once more before returning to whatever duties that having custody of the letter had pulled her away from.

Torn between curiosity and hunger, Alistair contemplated over the growl of his stomach whether he should deliver the letter or continue in his search of food. But the use of the simple title of _Grey Warden_ dated the contents as having probably been written before the Landsmeet and if it had waited a few weeks already then surely a few hours would not affect whatever information it contained.

Folding the letter in half again and hiding it away securely in a pocket, Alistair carried on towards the kitchens.

His arrival caused a greater uproar than he had anticipated. With trade routes still disrupted and the supplies of the city limited, there was little the cook had to offer which she considered suitable to serve to the King. Biting back the argument that it was surely more inappropriate to allow him to starve, Alistair worked his good-natured charm on the woman until he finally succeeded in convincing her that bread and cheese, even if both were stale, was in fact a meal fit for a King.

Settling himself in a corner of the warm kitchen, Alistair savoured each bite from the plate he was handed. Hunger eventually sated, he leant back against the wall and watched as the cook and her kitchen maids busied themselves with their various chores. There was a sense that he should offer to help but as his eyelids grew heavier, the thought of speaking to make the offer let alone moving to act on it became less and less appealing.

It was only when a hand dug into his shoulder and shook him awake that he realised he had fallen asleep. Stifling a yelp at the pain in his neck gave as he jolted upright, Alistair peered up at the unfamiliar figure looming over him.

"The Warden-Commander wishes to speak with you," one of the human Grey Wardens informed him in a tone that barely hid the man's disdain.

Getting to his feet, Alistair massaged the knotted muscle in his neck with a groan. "What time is it?"

"Past eleven bells," the man growled.

Alistair smothered a groan and forced himself to straighten, ignoring the twinge that shot across his shoulders from the knot. "Where's the Commander?"

"In his room," the Warden stepped to one side in a clear indication that he intended to escort Alistair to the Commander whether he wished it or not.

Taking the hint, Alistair bid goodbye to the cook who was watching the exchange with obvious interest and strode out from the kitchen leaving the Warden in his wake. His outward show of confidence hid the rising desperation from the pit of his stomach as he retraced his earlier route through the estate. Pushing away the numbing effect of his sleep, he struggled to order his thoughts into a coherent flow. It was vital he walked the thin line between truth and denial. Aware that everything he said would be treated to the utmost scrutiny, the necessary evasion of certain facts would have to be consistent no matter how often or in what manner they were tackled.

All too soon he found himself outside Argarth's room. His escort leant forward and opened the door before Alistair could stall for more time. He got the distinct impression that if he did hesitate then the man was not above grasping him by the shoulders and shoving him into the room as though he was some small petulant child. Loathe to offer the man the opportunity, Alistair stepped across the threshold with a projected self-confidence that was as certain as Duncan's had ever been.

At the thud of the closing door behind him, the Warden-Commander turned from the small table that had been pulled closer to the window to take better advantage of the daylight. The second dwarven Grey Warden was already seated with a stack of vellum smoothed out in front of him and small bottle of ink set to one side. Both regarded him with a stern expression which mirrored the one that been etched on the face of his escort. Alistair moved to the centre of the room and drew himself up, eyes forward and arms at his side as he gave the impression of standing to attention. He had been disciplined often enough during his time in the Chantry to understand how to conduct himself in front of his superiors.

It seemed to offer some form of appeasement to Argarth and the expression on the dwarf's face evened into a more neutral one. He waved a hand towards Alistair to communicate that while the man should continue to stand, he should be more at ease. Obediently Alistair allowed some of the tension in his posture to ebb and he moved his gaze towards the second dwarf in silent question.

"Korgik was a noted Shaper within the Shaperate. He will record your account. I trust this is satisfactory?"

Alistair inclined his head in agreement. No pretence; all three knew which events he was required to give an account of.

"Excellent," the Warden-Commander cast a glance back to Korgik who raised the quill above the vellum in ready expectation. Argarth closed his eyes and took a deep breath before beginning to stride back and forth in between the table and Alistair. A measured step which betrayed no impatience or haste, Alistair recognised it as the calm before the storm. "Then let's begin with the events at Ostagar..."

* * *

><p>Opening her eyes after a night of tortured dreams, Leliana was confronted by the source of those terrors dozing in the chair at her bedside. Her breathing quickened as she struggled to retain some form of composure while the onslaught of conflicting emotions ravaged her soul at the sight of the woman.<p>

Understanding. Acceptance. Forgiveness.

These were the qualities which the Chantry had shown towards her. These were the qualities which the Chantry had taught her. And these were the qualities which would ensure the Chant of Light would be spread throughout Thedas. So Leliana could not understand that when she needed to grasp hold of those qualities more tightly than she ever had, she found only bitter resentment in her heart.

Judgement.

It was not for her to judge. None but the Maker himself was permitted to judge. Leliana repeated the thought to herself as though forming the mantra would expel the reality that while forgiveness was so far from her mind, angry judgement was all too near.

She had thought that she had known what someone without hope looked like. For many dark months after Marjolaine, the reflection in the small mirror she carried with her had shown her just such a person. Yet Elissa's face had betrayed none of the signs, so perfectly and so closely to her skin did the woman paint her mask. Leliana could not pretend; she had not known the woman's true intention until that last terrible look which had accompanied the command to stop.

And now, scarred as well as scared, it was for Leliana to practice what she had so often preached. With Marjolaine, it had been simpler. Forgiveness had been borne from a long and hard fought struggle that had eventually exhausted itself into a state of apathy towards her former mentor and the fate which had befallen her. But no such relief offered itself in terms of Elissa. A woman for whom Leliana had lain down her life even when Elissa did not value her own life as one worth defending, Leliana knew that she would gladly do it again. It was that understanding which made the hurt all the keener.

The sound of Elissa mumbling in her sleep distracted the Bard from her thoughts. The young woman had been slumped to one side but as her mumbles became mutters, she seemed to want to thrash about.

The mage rose from her seat and approached the Warden. Catching Leliana's eye, Liahn raised an eyebrow as though to ask whether such behaviour was normal. Before the Bard could answer, Elissa started up in her seat with a gasp. She shrank back from the outstretched hand of the mage and it took a few minutes for the disorientation on her face to fade in favour of acknowledgment of where she was and who she was with.

Blinking first at Leliana then the mage, Elissa's gaze was draw to the door.

"What is it?" Liahn murmured, her hand now resting on the back of the chair rather than risking upsetting the woman further by touching her.

"Taint," Elissa muttered. "Someone with the taint. A Grey Warden."

"The King?"

"No," the woman swallowed as she tried to master the panic that was already seeping out of her, "It's different."

There was a low murmur of voices from outside but aside from that, nothing that either Leliana or Liahn could understand as provoking such a response from the Warden. Sensing that her patient's well-being was being compromised however, Liahn turned and left the room to discover whether Elissa's fears were in any way justified.

Sensing the panicked confusion that was bubbling just below the surface of the woman, Leliana forced herself to speak. "Is there something to be worried about?"

"I don't think so," Elissa's face remained pale and her hands trembled in her lap, preventing her words having any conviction. "At least, not immediately."

Impulse and habit rather than active choice guided Leliana's arm. Her claw-like hand reached out and where once it would have provided a light and reassuring touch, the Bard's hand now rested clumsily against Elissa's knee. The initial thump against her leg made Elissa jump but glancing down to the outstretched hand, bandaged and injured as it was, she tenderly covered it in both of her own and found the confidence to give a weak smile towards the Bard.

Before either could say anything, the mage slipped back into the room. She looked towards both her patients with a reassuring smile.

"You were right, Warden. It was one of your brothers from Orlais. An elf. He sends his regards to the Hero of Ferelden and hopes that he may have the honour of speaking with you soon."

Elissa nodded in acknowledgment of the message, beginning to chew the corner of her lip in distraction. Liahn settled herself back in her chair and took up her reading once more, apparently satisfied that the immediate cause of concern to her patient's had been dealt with. But the small movement was one that Leliana could recognise, when given the opportunity to do so.

With a small jerk that was intended as a squeeze but misinterpreted by her body, Leliana offered the words she knew Elissa would not fully appreciate but which the Maker surely would. A spiritual balm to the burns that scorched her soul even as Liahn's salve worked to heal the physical, Leliana welcomed the first tentative sign of forgiveness.

"Do not fret, dear one. You are safe with me."


	27. Grey Wardens and Politics

The broad daylight of midday had waned into the twilight of dusk and still Korgik's quill scrapped across the vellum. There was a professional pride in the manner to which the dwarf approached his task. Hunched over the table with nose almost touching the sheet, Korgik curled an arm around the page as he wrote as though protecting the words from being disturbed by the impure aural account that he had the responsibility of sifting through.

And there was much to be sifted. The story of the previous year was complex even when the two inexperienced Wardens had not intended it to be and Argarth insisted that each detail Alistair gave was examined in full before allowing Korgik to commit it to the record. Unperturbed by the tense atmosphere which was developing between Commander and junior Warden as a result of their fraying patience, Korgik took the lengthy breaks as opportunity to carry out small but necessary administrative duties. The quill tip was sharpened, the completed sheets of vellum blotted and the unmarked sheets straightened into a neat pile in preparation while the dwarf absorbed the main details of the discussion which carried on around him in anticipation of Argarth's instruction to make the record.

Intentional or otherwise, the behaviour of the former archivist had a calming influence on Alistair. Even as Argarth needled him for explanations to decisions he had had no part in, Alistair had watched the second dwarf out of the corner of his eye. Never reacting but always listening, the true objectivity of Korgik was a soothing complement to Argarth's insatiable desire to uncover some hidden truth. Whatever else happened, Alistair could believe that Korgik's account would be an accurate representation of his words. And somehow, that seemed important.

"And you are certain that _she _took the blow?" Argarth pressed.

"Yes." Alistair sighed.

Initially he had begun the tale with a posture befitting a Grey Warden and King but retelling events, most of which were long past, had quickly revealed themselves as still being too close to his heart and he found himself to be as weary in mind as he was in body. True, there had been times when camaraderie had eased the burden which had settled firmly on their shoulders but the more recent events that had occurred since his night with Morrigan tainted the memories he saw in his mind's eye.

"You had no part in it?"

"I told you. I used my sword to slash its underbelly and then Elissa drove my sword through its skull."

Argarth shook his head, a scowl darkening his features. "This cannot be, Warden."

Alistair dropped his head further until his chin was almost resting on his chest. His shoulders had long since slumped and his gaze had fallen to the floor as his tongue had turned traitor. Tripping and stumbling over the details as he had recounted the events that had occurred on the rooftop, his once clear voice had faded to a reticent mumble. For reasons he wished to leave unexplored for fear it would uncover a pity he could not bear to be recipient of, Argarth had grown silent as Alistair talked through the first telling of the battle. But that had been over two bells ago and still the Warden-Commander returned to the very crux of the story. Korgik sat with arms folded on the desk, quill resting parallel to the top of the vellum while he waited for Argarth to extract all the information that he intended.

"It was your _honour_ to kill the demon once Riordan failed and yet you allow your junior-ranking Warden and lover to take the blow for you?"

Alistair flinched and heaved his head from his chest to stare at Argarth. He had made the decision to hide nothing aside from the ritual and recounting how low Elissa had fallen had been as painful as though it had been his own shame.

"Yes, yes, despairing," the dwarf anticipated the argument that was written across Alistair's face. "I think the truth is far simpler. Either we have a coward in our ranks or you knew she would not die."

"I thought she was dead," the words were spoken in a monotone.

"So you admit to being a coward then."

"No," a small spark of irritation lifted the monotone to a more persuasive conviction. "She did it because she love..."

"So now it's love," a derisive smirk surfaced on the dwarf's face. "Did the purity of the love you bear one another shine a light upon the corrupted darkness of the creature and banished it back from whence it came?"

A flush crept across Alistair's cheeks at the blatant ridicule.

"I thought not. Do not try and tell me that just because you made a choice to rut with a woman that it ended up saving your life."

"Believe what you want."

The apparent petulance of the statement was contradicted by the renewed resilience that crept into Alistair's stance. Shoulders still hunched but his gaze had moved from the floor and he met Argarth's stare without hesitation. Eyeing the man, Argarth dismissed the change in attitude as a last ditch attempt to regain some control of an increasingly spiralling conversation. Following Alistair's lead, Argarth took a breath in an effort to regain his temper and gestured towards Korgik as an indication that he take down the details as they had been presented.

In the silence which followed, broken only by the scratch of Korgik's quill as his hand flew across the vellum with well-practiced ease, Alistair lowered his gaze once more. Withdrawing into himself, he took the lull in the debriefing to gather his thoughts as best he could. Eamon had attempted to intervene not long after they had begun and the commotion that had resounded from the corridor as the Arl had clashed with the Grey Wardens standing guard outside gave some suggestion as to how the man would react when Argarth did eventually permit Alistair to leave.

He would have to visit the Arl. And Zevran, Oghren and Sten. And he was overdue a visit to Leliana. Then of course, Elissa. But then, Maker willing, perhaps he could go to bed. More than that, perhaps he could go to bed and sleep. No deep discussions and no heart-wrenching revelations, all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Where, he was not overly concerned. His bed, her bed, the dog's bed; any bed was welcome so long as it offered peace and quiet.

Korgik grunted as a signal that the Warden-Commander could continue with the interview when he was ready. Disturbed from his thoughts, Alistair lifted his head with a weary sigh and braced himself.

Argarth studied the man in front of him, allowing a few more minutes to pass in an effort to reclaim some of the tension bearing down on Alistair that had been lost while Korgik wrote.

"Of course," the dwarf spoke as though continuing a conversation that had only paused for a moment. "It could be that Cousland hoped to complete her plans for the throne."

Stifling a snort, Alistair permitted himself a frown. "Plans?"

Argarth waved a hand towards Korgik to indicate that he need not note all of the following down. "Tell me how you were recruited, Alistair. Am I correct that Duncan invoked the Right of Conscription?"

"Yes. The Revered Mother didn't want to let me go."

"Are you aware that invoking the Right is unusual in Ferelden?"

Alistair gave a guarded shake of his head. The conversational tone of the Commander was at odds with what had gone before.

"It is," Argarth rubbed at his eyes. The first sign of the Commander's weariness. "Political ramifications. Does the name Sophia Dryden mean anything to you?"

"She was Warden-Commander at Soldier's Peak," Alistair chose to omit the fact that her rotting corpse had also been possessed by a demon until only a few months ago.

Sensing the omission if not its content, Argarth fixed a hard stare on him. "Yes. As a result of her actions, justified or otherwise, the Grey Wardens were exiled from Ferelden. Your father..." Involuntarily Alistair flinched at the word but Argarth chose to ignore the reaction. "... allowed our Order to return."

Alistair remained silent, waiting for the dwarf to elaborate on the point of the history lesson. As Argarth continued to stare at him, the Commander could not be certain whether the show of dull-wittedness was feigned or genuine. Ancestors help them both if it was the latter.

"Now only decades after our return to Ferelden, another Grey Warden stands at the tip of a politically charged explosive which runs through the very seam of the country."

"This isn't like Sophia."

The simple statement, evidence of at least a basic understanding of political tensions, demonstrated that the idiocy had been feigned. It was small relief to the Warden-Commander.

"No. This is _worse_," the dwarf slammed a hand on the table, making Korgik jump before he huddled even further over his vellum. "That ... incident ... seems trivial in comparison to _this_." Argarth began to pace the length of the room and both junior Wardens were forced to move their heads as they tracked his movement. "Two Grey Wardens, the last of their Order in Ferelden, actively campaigned to alter the politics of their country to the extent that one has been set on the throne and there is a belief that the other will become his Queen-Consort. Throughout Ferelden, there is talk of the Grey Warden King." Argarth whirled round from his pacing and advanced on Alistair. "Tell me _Warden_, how does one become a Grey Warden King when we renounce _all_ claims?" Without waiting for Alistair to respond, Argarth resumed his pacing but this time there was a marked stamp which caused his armour to rattle and Korgik's ink to slosh. Casting an ill-hidden dirty look towards his Commander, Korgik lifted the small bottle from the table and clutched it in his hands where it would be safe from the vibrations. "If that were not enough, the widow of the previous King..." Argarth shot a glare at the human as he passed him, "... who herself has a legitimate claim to the throne, is awaiting execution on _your_ order."

The dwarf ground to a halt and purposefully stared into the fire as he attempted to reign in the torrent of abuse that was ready to fall from the tip of his tongue. Anticipating a greater restraint from his Commander, Korgik tentatively replaced the ink bottle on the make-shift desk. Catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, Argarth shook his head as a long exhale escaped from between his gritted teeth. Shooting a dirty look of his own towards the record-keeper, Argarth turned back to Alistair with a regained temper.

"Your participation in these events has made a mockery of the Joining and the oath that binds us. Becoming a Grey Warden is an honour and not one that can be disregarded when it is no longer convenient. It is a commitment that cannot be forsaken," Argarth held up a hand as he saw Alistair make to speak. "You would have done well to remember this earlier. As it is, if we insist that you honour your oath to us then it will be the Grey Wardens who bear the brunt of your foolishness. But if we allow you to take up your prior claim then we risk throwing the entire Order into complete chaos."

Thrown by the unexpected turn the debriefing had taken, Alistair could only stutter. "There ... there have been others ... others who have left..."

"No, Alistair. You do not _leave_ the Order. There are others who have chosen their own path and who may wish to believe that they have cut all ties but they remain Wardens whether they like it or not. And if it should become necessary then they will be forced to honour their oath."

"I'll do the same."

"And when our agenda differs from that of your country, Alistair? What then? When the sheer relief at not being destroyed by a Blight fades? When your popularity is questioned? When a harvest fails and the people are hungry? What then?" Argarth folded his arms across his chest as though doing so would keep his rage from deep within seeping out. "_Then_, Alistair, you are once again the Grey Warden who seeks to exert political influence over a country. You will only be King so long as things are going well."

"That's cynical..."

"It is _realistic_! And the fact that you do not recognise it as such only serves to emphasise that whatever blood claim you may have had, it is not a sufficient qualification to rule a country." The dwarf shook his head, turning away from Alistair and looking towards the fire once more. "I only knew Duncan by reputation. But he was known for foresight. I cannot see why it failed him when he chose you."

The chafing sting of the insult chased away the last of the lethargy which had begun to encase his body and mind. With a growl, he confronted the dwarf. "What does that mean?"

Argarth spun round. The growing disdain that had appeared on his face was cleansed by an expression of genuine surprise. "You do not know?"

"Know what?"

The Warden-Commander shook his head as a contemptuous sneer made itself obvious. Muttering under his breath, he remarked "he should have let you die on the field."

The comment acted as salt to the previous insult and Alistair found himself taking a step towards the dwarf, his face contorted into an ugly snarl. Korgik jumped to his feet, one hand on sword and the other poised over the stack of vellum to prevent it falling to the floor. But while Korgik spared a thought for his meticulous records, Argarth squared up to the human. Alistair purposefully drew himself to full height as he loomed over the Commander and hissed, "If I'd had my way, I would have!"

An expectant tension settled over the room as each waited for some reaction from the other. It was the Warden-Commander who finally regained the presence of mind to break the stand-off. In all truth, he was surprised to see the fervour with which Alistair defended himself and his former mentor. The Cousland temper had been well-reported but her fellow Warden... No.

"Enough," Argarth moved away from Alistair and signalled that Korgik should return to his seat as well. He moved to the wall, leaning against it as he faced the human. He intended that the increased space between them would act as a barrier but the building pressure showed no sign of dissipating. "I cannot see a way forward from this. You will have to renounce your claim as the Joining demands. Be grateful the widow still lives otherwise your actions would have thrown your country into anarchy."

"No. I will not see Anora on the throne." The resolve with which Alistair spoke was mirrored in his stance. Resembling the manner in which he had first entered, the look on his face was grim determination.

"Your opinion is irrelevant."

"By placing her on the throne, _you _are interfering in Ferelden's politics."

Argarth pushed himself off of the wall and it was only a well-timed clearing of the throat from Korgik which prevented the Commander from cuffing the insolent man. Instead he settled for a throaty snarl which made no secret of what his true intention had been towards Alistair. "Remember your place, _Warden_. This is your mess, not mine."

"If you will not allow me to honour the Landsmeet decision," even as the red mist descended around him, Alistair saw the benefit of pausing for a moment to emphasise that the decision had been ratified by the nobility, "then what do you intend with us?"

"It is uncertain. Cousland will need to be questioned further but having abandoned her oath once then I cannot see how she can be allowed to remain in Ferelden without close supervision. She is likely to be recalled to Weisshaupt. As for you, Alistair, I do not know. There are other Wardens who once called Ferelden home. They will likely be asked to take your place here. However thanks to your actions, I cannot see that either they or you will be welcome within these borders."

"Elissa has to stay with me," the bluntness of the statement did nothing to dull the frustrated anger of the dwarf. "King or Warden, she stays with me."

"You are no King," Argarth snubbed the use of title. "And as Warden, you will go where you are ordered."

Sustained by the growing rage that was consuming his previous tiredness, Alistair was visibly shaking. But before he could speak, Argarth took the initiative.

"That will be all, Warden."

For all his shaking, Alistair was unable to convert that energy into movement and he remained rooted to the spot.

Taking it as a form of vain resistance to the reality of what had been said, Argarth emphasised the instruction. "_Dismissed_, Warden."

With a stumble backwards that he resented for the show of weakness it inferred, Alistair stormed to the door and wrenched it open. Shoving past the two Warden standing guard outside, he was intent only in putting as much distance between him and the Warden-Commander before his fermenting animosity towards the dwarf could engulf any rational thought.

All the promises they had made to each other were crumbling to dust. But more than that, it was no longer about only them. As much as the issue of an heir threatened the security of Ferelden, it remained an abstract concern for the moment. The very real threat of civil war was anything but.

Moving through corridors which were becoming increasingly familiar, there was only one person who could provide some form of solution to the problem which now faced him and Ferelden. As dramatic as it sounded. Coronation or not, he felt the responsibility of kingship all too keenly to absolve himself of the effect that his ousting by the Grey Wardens would have.

Alistair did not bother to knock but pushed open the door to Eamon's study. At Alistair's entrance, Eamon looked towards him but quickly pushed his chair back and stood up as the younger man's demeanour told him that whatever the Grey Wardens had discussed with him, it bode ill. Dispensing with any attempt at civility, Eamon stabbed a finger towards the chair in front of desk.

"Tell me everything."


	28. I Spy a Happy Crow

Stepping in slow circles so that her eyes could trail around the whole circumference of the room, Elissa attempt to seek out the answer that was evading her. Such a simple thing yet the task of finding it was proving itself to be unexpectedly difficult.

"Stone?" Elissa ventured at last, eyes settling back on Leliana lying in the bed.

The Bard shook her head.

"Not stone," Elissa muttered to herself and resumed her slow rotation of the room, concentration furrowing her forehead.

While Leliana's earlier reassurance had been welcome, there remained some remnants of walls between the two women and both had sensed the mutual desire to avoid any topic which may have led to those walls being rebuilt. Yet without playing cards, drink or any other chore to occupy the time, the Bard and Warden were reduced to childhood games.

Smothering a sigh, Leliana repositioned herself on the bed. Elissa seized on the movement as if it was part clue and with a self-satisfied smirk, she folded her arms across her chest. "Sheets."

"No."

"No?" Deflated, the Warden's arms fell to her side. With a little groan, she gave up the pretence of riveting entertainment and rubbed at her forehead. "Oh, I give up. What S do you spy with your little eye?"

"Scripture," Leliana looked towards the bookshelf on the far side of the room, near the door.

Spinning in place, Elissa squinted at the bindings but even in her position in the centre of the room, she was unable to read any of the spines. She turned back to Leliana with an accusatory glare, "You're making that up."

"Am I?" Leliana maintained a deadpan expression.

With a surge of competitiveness engulfing any rational perspective, Elissa stalked across to the bookcase and leaning forward began to trace a finger across the spines. Mumbling the titles as she went, it was a few minutes before her finger halted at the spine of a book.

In the silence which followed, Liahn looked up from her crafting and arched an eyebrow. "Well, Warden?"

Elissa straightened but kept her eyes focused on the bookcase. With a bad grace she muttered, "There is a copy of the Chant of Light."

"What was that, dear one?" Leliana feigned deafness.

Elissa whirled round but catching the mischief that flashed across Leliana's face, she regained her misplaced humour and the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth warmed her tone. "Fluke, Leliana. And don't you dare tell me otherwise."

"The Maker can be found all round us if only we choose to open our eyes," the mischievous glint began to morph into a smile but before it could blossom, Leliana grimaced and her hand snaked up towards the bandage across her face.

Catching her patient's discomfort, Liahn rose from her chair and moved to the Bard's side. In a well-rehearsed movement, Elissa turned back to the bookshelf and focused unseeingly on the range of titles in front of her. A routine which had been repeated throughout the day, it had come as a shock to discover that traces of vanity still existed in the Bard. When Liahn had made to examine Leliana earlier in the morning, the Bard had initially demanded that Elissa step outside but unable to find the courage to grant her friend even that small request, the Warden had been forced to beg permission to be allowed to remain. Seeing the rising panic begin to consume Elissa, Leliana had relented although she insisted that the woman move to the other side of the room and turn away. Eager to placate the Bard, Elissa had agreed without hesitation and ensured that she followed the instruction each time the mage approached Leliana.

"I need to fetch another salve," Liahn chided from behind her. A low grumbling pitch of a murmur communicated Leliana's displeasure at the news. The sound of the mage's voice cut through the protestations. "I will do no such thing. I will be a few minutes, that's all."

Without waiting for any further arguments, Elissa risked a glance towards the door as Liahn entered into the periphery of her vision. The mage pulled on the handle and slipped out without a backward look towards either woman.

An uncomfortable silence descended over the room and busying herself with reading each and every title in front of her, it took a few moments for Elissa to recognise the sound of intermittent whimpering when it finally broke through. Unable to decide whether to ignore or acknowledge it, the sounds tugged at her heart and she tentatively spoke up.

"Leliana?"

There was no response and Elissa risked darting a look towards her friend. Sitting up in the bed, one hand hovering over her right cheek in an attempt to hide the injury while the other pressed against her mouth as she attempted to stifle the sounds, the Bard's eyes were squeezed shut as she desperately tried to hold back her tears.

"Oh, Leliana," Elissa abandoned her aloof position in favour of perching on the bed and wrapping her arms around the woman.

Still with a lingering expectation that she would be pushed away, it was a welcome surprise to have the Bard lean against her. Elissa cradled her friend, careful to angle herself so that she did not brush against the injury which Leliana still hid from her.

"So... stupid..." the words were spluttered into her shoulder between the whimpers which were quickly becoming fully-fledged sobs.

As the tears threatened to course down her face, Leliana pulled away and desperately tried to divert her salty tears from the burn. The woman's vanity forgotten for a moment, Elissa was able to see the full-extent of the injury for the first time. The skill of the healers had prevented infection from setting in but it was already clear that scarring would be inevitable.

Unaware that pity had crept onto her face, it was the resentful glare from beneath tearstained eyelashes which alerted Elissa to the fact that she had intruded into the other woman's space. Swallowing, Elissa stood up and made to back away in an attempt to mollify the accusations which she could sense were building on the tip of Leliana's tongue.

Stumbling as her heel caught the edge of the chair while she kept her gaze fixed anywhere but Leliana, the return of Liahn halted the escalating tension between the two. Both women turned away from one another and looked towards the mage, their combined gazes causing even Liahn to hesitate. Glancing between the two the mage guessed at the cause of tension and with a dirty look directed towards Elissa, began bustling about the room as she collected the rest of her healing supplies.

"Warden, wash your hands," she pointed towards a small bowl filled with water near her crafting equipment.

"What?"

"Since you seem to want to involve yourself, I can make use of you. No doubt I will have returned to the Tower before Leliana's injuries are fully healed and she will need someone who can help her. It may as well be her _friend_."

Neither Leliana or Elissa missed the emphasis but it didn't prevent Elissa casting a helpless look towards Leliana in an attempt to seek permission.

"Warden," Liahn huffed with an impatience bordering on short-tempered.

Cowed by the mage, Elissa obediently wetted her hands before drying them on the small cloth beside the bowl. Nearing Liahn's side, both Bard and Warden purposefully kept their gazes away from one another.

"Watch," Liahn began her instruction through demonstration as she deftly cleaned the one side of Leliana's face. Despite the resolute manner in which Leliana sat bolt upright, the Bard winced and Liahn murmured some small reassurance as her fingers stilled for a second to let the painful sensation pass. After Leliana settled, Liahn continued with her teaching and her demeanour towards the Warden softened as she appreciated the respect Elissa showed towards her skill. Encouraging questions, Liahn demonstrated the lightness of touch required to smooth the salve over the puckered skin while trying to spare Leliana as much discomfort as possible. Finally a fresh bandage was cut and reapplied to the woman's face.

Wiping her hands on the cloth, Liahn admired her handiwork before turning to Elissa. "Next time, you'll do it."

The Warden paled. "If Lelia..."

"You'll do it," Liahn repeated, gathering up the leftover supplies and pushing past the Warden. Turing her back on the two women, the mage occupied herself with sorting through what remained and organising it neatly on her little table.

"C."

Turning back to face Leliana, Elissa was caught off-guard and she spoke without thinking. "See what?"

Still sitting bolt upright, the skin on Leliana's uninjured cheek was a faint pink and her jaw revealed that she was gritting her teeth. Her gaze remained steady however and she seemed intent on boring a hole into the back of the mage.

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with C."

* * *

><p>Sitting in a corner of the grubby little tavern, the sneering scowl which came so easily to Torih's face ensured that there was no invitation for pointless conversation from the patrons milling around him. And, aside from the Crow who maintained a suspicious vigilance over him from across the room, it seemed to be an arrangement that suited everyone.<p>

Hand curving around the wooden beaker that he could only presume had once been shown an ale barrel even if it had not been filled by one, Torih confronted the fact that he was at a loss of how to advance his enquiries. The female was under guard. The bastard was being interrogated. And of the four companions which remained, three were already aware of his intentions. Having being forced to approach and question more than the group who had travelled with the Wardens, it had quickly become clear that little was known outside of the immediate companions they kept company with. Time and time again, he had encountered the fantastical gossip that had little basis in fact and all in myth.

Shooting a dark look towards the ever watchful Antivan, Torih permitted himself a curse. Overconfidence. Experience of drinking with Korgik should have told him that Oghren would have taken more time to break than he had available but overconfidence had persuaded him otherwise. There was no doubt in his mind that the female and bastard had contrived with some demon or dark magic or something. But such conviction did not appear to herald results and the only snippet of new information he had gleaned from an unintentional conversation with one of the Templar Knights was that the Witch of the Wilds was rumoured to be pregnant.

Aware that the Witch had spent the last few weeks in the presence of the bastard, Torih had pressed further. The guise of concern that an apostate was to be allowed to roam free with her child when both of whom were surely vulnerable to the enticing offers from demons provided a suitable platform. The Templar had glowered as his zealot rage ignited but the elf had ascertained in between the Chantry propaganda that the child, whoever the father, had not been rumoured to be tainted. With no apparent connection to the bastard Warden despite the tantalising detail that the Witch was only a few weeks gone, it seemed irrelevant. A pity. Revealing the bastard's indiscretion to his reportedly ever faithful beloved would have provided an amusing diversion.

An unbidden snicker escaped from the elf and he hunched further over his cup in an effort to ward off any attempts to join in on the joke. None were forthcoming but distracted from his own thoughts, Torih became aware of the tingling sensation of dirty looks being thrown at him from more than just the Crow. Keeping his eyes to the table but beginning to concentrate on the snippets of conversations around him, he became aware of the new rumours which were occupying the tavern. He had encountered increasing resistance earlier in the day as gossip from the Arl's estate had filtered through the streets of Denerim that the King had been dragged from the estate kitchens by two – no, three – no, _four_ of the Orlesian Grey Wardens not long before midday. Now though, the rumour seemed to be that some form of challenge had been made by the Orlesian Grey Wardens and the King had been seen storming through the estate, bellowing for Eamon, no more than an hour or so ago.

A decidedly discomforting feeling was permeating throughout the tavern as the gossip passed from person to person and Torih was aware he was swiftly becoming the sole focus of it. With a snarl, he pushed his tankard away and climbed to his feet. Throwing some coin on the table behind him, he pushed through the various groups of people, neatly sidestepping the sly feet which attempted to trip him up and escaped into the early night air. If rumour of the bastard's temper tantrum was true then it was a signal that Argarth would be waiting for his return.

Heading in the direction of the Arl's estate, it did not take much wit to realise that he was being followed.

Turning mid step, Torih faced the two drunks. Lip curling at the sight of the men, his hand moved to the small blade hidden beneath his clothes at his back.

"There he is," one slurred, staggering against the side of a wall. "There, he's fucking one of them."

"What ... what do you want... with our... our King?" his companion interrupted.

Refusing to be drawn further into an argument against inferior as well as inebriated wits, Torih turned his back on the men and continued towards the estate. The only concession he allowed himself was the knife which now rested flat against his forearm, grip secure on the handle.

"Hey! I asked you a question!" the second drunk hollered after him. "Ignorant bastard. You'd think with those knife ears, they'd sodding hear better."

His friend cackled. "Our Hero'll take no shit off fucking Orlesian knife ears."

Unable to smother the flare of temper, Torih rounded on the men who pricked up at the reaction.

"Here, he's a cocky twat, in't he?" the second drunk nudged the first.

"Reckon they'll miss him?" his friend sneered, advancing a step towards Torih.

"Ah, my friends, I believe the King and Hero would be most displeased to find the blood of their brethren staining the streets, no?" a calm voice spoke from behind the men.

Glimpsing the owner of the voice through the gaps as the men spun round, Torih growled.

"Another fucking knife ear," the first man began before his friend elbowed him in the ribs.

"Shut up Donal, that's the Hero's sodding companion, that is. He's alright, he is."

Zevran bowed low in acknowledgement of the introduction. "You are too kind, friend." Reaching into his leathers, he pulled out a few coin and tossed it at the feet of the second man. "Such recognition deserves reward. A drink, on me."

The man fell to his knees and scrabbled about in the dirt. Snatching at the scattered coins, he ducked his head towards Zevran and yanked his friend by the shirt back towards the tavern. Moving aside as the pair scuttled past, Zevran approached the elven Warden.

"Your intervention was not required," Torih snarled.

"For you, perhaps," Zevran's gaze darted down to the hand which still gripped the knife. Satisfied that he had made his point as the Warden self-consciously flicked the switchblade closed, he met Torih's hard stare once more.

"I have no interest in speaking with you, Crow."

Zevran gave a small shrug. "As you wish."

Thrown by the easy capitulation from the Antivan, Torih hesitated. Perhaps a conversation with the Crow would reveal some small detail that could be seized on. Returning to Argarth with the precious little he had uncovered would not be sufficient, he knew this already. But to engage the Antivan in discussion, especially when the assassin was already aware of his true intent, would be risky.

Rolling his tongue in his mouth as he sized up the elf in front of him, Torih sheathed the knife in its place at his back. "But perhaps you have an interest in speaking with me?"

A low chuckle rose from the Crow. "Come. Let us find more... agreeable... surroundings, yes?"

Following the retreating figure of Zevran as the elf moved through the streets of the marketplace towards the gates, Torih found himself relishing the anticipation of the challenge ahead of him.

* * *

><p>Watching the stars beginning to creep out from the clouds that drifted across the night sky, Leliana rested her cheek against the head of the sleeping Warden curled against her. Liahn's intervention, unwelcome as it had been, had served to fracture the last of the undercurrent tension between the women. With Elissa having exhausted all possibilities of something beginning with 'C' other than the one they both knew the Bard intended, the women acknowledged the need to grind the rubble still strewn between them into dust and they had spent the afternoon talking with one another in hushed tones.<p>

After their evening meal, they had been content to fall into a companionable silence. Watching as the Warden's head had begun to droop, Leliana had coaxed her into lying beside her and now the Bard pulled the young woman closer in an effort to prevent the night chill from disturbing her. Liahn glanced up from the book in her lap at the movement but reassured that there was no cause to concern, she returned to reading.

Feeling Elissa stir as she neared to waking, Leliana began to hum under her breath in an effort to quieten her. The young woman sighed deeply and stilled while the sound of low voices travelled from outside the door. Her response earlier in the day compared with now told Leliana who was outside and she eyed the door as she waited for Alistair to come in.

Her voice trailed off at the sight of him when he did finally enter. Although he found the energy to flash a crooked smile at her, it did little to chase away the cares which were written across his face and in the way he held himself. Gone was the fresh faced young Warden she was accustomed to seeing.

Discarding her book on the table, Liahn hastily got to her feet as her lips pursed into a disapproving line.

"Please, don't send me away." The plea was further coloured by a desperation in his voice he was unable to hide.

"You need rest," the mage insisted.

"I know. Trust me, I know," he ran a hand through his hair with a weary sigh. "I just want to see Leliana and then I'll take Elissa back."

An indistinct mutter from under her breath came from the mage but with a hint of grudging tact, she moved to the door behind him. "Very well. I need to speak with the Templars and it would be helpful if someone would watch over them. But," she fixed a look on Alistair, "when I come back then you must promise to go and rest."

Nodding eagerly, he held the door open for the mage. As Liahn exited, he pushed it closed before approaching the bed. Leaning down with one hand resting against the headboard as he steadied himself, he brushed a kiss across the Bard's forehead. "How are you?"

Leliana smiled at him and glanced down at Elissa out the corner of her eye. "We are well."

"Good," his other hand stroked Elissa's hair for a moment, needing the physical contact before believing what he was told.

"I wish the same could be said for you," the Bard murmured. "You look awful."

"Thanks," his face morphed into a grin before settling back into a worried grimace.

"Is it about her?" Without thinking, Leliana tightened her arm around the Warden.

"Isn't it always," Alistair sank onto the edge of the bed. His elbows rested on his knees and he supported his head in his hands and although he offered no further explanation, he swallowed repeatedly as though there were more words trapped in his throat.

Unable to move her arms for fear that she would wake Elissa, Leliana looked for a way to offer some comfort to him. Miscalculating the new signals her body required, the movement of her leg which was intended to be a reassuring nudge against him became a sharp kick. Controlling the gasp which would reveal it as an accident, Leliana assumed an unruffled facade as Alistair rounded on her with a disgruntled glare.

"You deserved that."

"What, a kick up the arse?" he blurted without thinking.

A small giggle escaped from her while a groan which deepened into a chortle came from Alistair. The different pitches penetrated into Elissa's sleep and she began to stir again. Leliana took up her soft singing once more.

Listening to the words, Alistair gave a start. "The noblewoman and the _what_?"

Leliana spluttered with laughter as the raised eyebrow mutated into furrowed outrage as he worked out the pairing. Skipping a few bars, she regained her composure and continued with the self-penned song.

"No wonder you're a Bard. Your skills as a minstrel are horrendous."

Leliana aimed another kick at him but he scooted beyond her reach before she could connect her foot with his body. Deprived of any physical retaliation, Leliana resorted to the only retribution available to her. Her efforts were rewarded by a dirty look from Alistair as the first unflattering descriptions of the Templar recruit in her song reached his ears. Smiling sweetly, she continued with her character assassination.

Alistair shook his head as he settled himself down in the chair Elissa had been using most of the day. Closing his eyes, the melody soothed his troubled mind and helped to distract from the whispers which echoed round his head and lulled him towards drifting off.

Studying him from beneath her eyelashes, Leliana continued to sing. Moving on from the descriptions of her protagonists, the lyrics tripped off her tongue with an ease that was at odds with the difficulty she had in finding any words that might help him.

"Stop staring at me," he grunted, eyes still closed.

"Oh how could you know that?" she broke off from the song with an irritated grumble.

His shoulders shook as he stifled a laugh and he cracked an eye open. "I know everything."

"What you know, Alistair Theirin, would not fill a thimble."

Expecting a mock pout followed a snarky retort, she was taken aback by the bitterness that tinged his reply.

"You're probably right."

Regretting her teasing, Leliana bit her lip. "I did not..."

"It's alright," he waved away her apology before she could speak it and rubbed at his eyes. "It's just been a long day of being talked at."

Resuming her singing, Leliana revised her description of the Templar recruit as means of a peace offering. A small smile surfaced as he peered at her between his fingers and the faint sign of amusement served to lighten his mood somewhat.

Abridging the events, Leliana continued with her tale and was halfway through describing how the now handsome and virtuous Templar saved the noblewoman from an unscrupulous mage when Alistair interrupted her.

"How does it end?"

The Bard glanced up at him from where her unseeing gaze had fallen. She blinked at him as she waited for him to expand on the question.

"The song. How does it end?"

The words faded back into a hum as Leliana considered the real question he was asking. "How would you like it to end, dear heart?"

Deliberately obtuse, Alistair avoided being drawn. "You're the songstress. You tell me."

After a moment of consideration, Leliana committed herself. "Happily ever after."

"Happy endings don't exist," he countered flatly, leaning forward in the chair as though her words had robbed him of any peace he may have found in her company.

"Oh Alistair," Leliana shook her head with a click of her tongue, "Is there anything more heartbreaking than someone who has lost faith in stories?"

"Happy endings don't just happen," he rose to his feet and moved around the room, picking up and putting down whatever his hands came across without really examining what he touched.

"I never said they did, dear heart," Leliana murmured as she watched him. "You asked how the song ended, not how it got there."

"You knew what I meant," he snapped, still facing away from her. Stopping with one of Liahn's glass vials in his hands, he looked over his shoulder. "Tell me how the song gets its happy ending."

"I do not know. They are not at the end yet."

"So you have no idea whether there is a happy ending or not," he replaced the vial on the table and moved towards the bookcase with a derisive snort.

"You cannot skip to the end simply because you do not like the middle, Alistair. A story is more than its ending."

"The ending is all anyone remembers."

"Not to those living it," Leliana replied quietly, almost to herself.

Alistair chose not to respond, flicking through a book he had picked at random. Not having the heart to continue with her singing, Leliana leant down and murmured in Elissa's ear. A few moments and the Warden opened her eyes with a sleepy grunt.

"Hmm?" she blinked up at Leliana before her gaze settled on Alistair. A contented smile spread across her face. "Oh, hello love."

Shoving the book back wherever it would fit, the transformation which descended over Alistair was not as perfect as Elissa's had been but within moments the frustration and simmering anger that the previous conversation had released was hastily smoothed over with an ill-fitting nonchalance.

"Hello. I thought you were supposed to be keeping Leliana company?" he walked back towards the bed.

"I was but she's too comfy," Elissa pushed herself into a sitting position and stretched. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long."

A frown crinkled her forehead as she stared up at him. "You look tired, love."

"He has been waiting for you to wake, dear one," Leliana broke in, nudging her friend as a prompt for Elissa to get to her feet.

Swinging her feet over to the side of the bed and standing up, Elissa turned back and bent down to kiss Leliana on her uninjured cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course, dear one," Leliana nodded before looking past Elissa towards Alistair with a small hint of doubt. "And you, dear heart?"

He eyed the Bard. He was reluctant to leave on an argument but had no wish for Elissa to know what had been said. "Because they're heroes. That's why they get there."

The seemingly non-sequitur statement caused a look of confusion to surface on Elissa's face but Leliana broke into a smile.

"And heroes deserve happy endings."

Shepherding a now bewildered Elissa to the door, Alistair shot an exasperated look towards Leliana. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Clutching at his hand, Elissa allowed him to guide her into the hall. Keeping her eyes to the floor, she trusted to Alistair to manoeuvre her towards her room while she attempted to harness the over-whelming panic that threatened at her senses. Although she could rationalise that the hellish nightmare she had imagined was yet to materialise, she had no wish to linger for longer than was necessary.

Reassuring murmurs in her ear, the distance seemed shorter than it had in the morning. Hearing the scrape of the door across the floor, Elissa let out a breath as she found herself surrounded by familiar walls again. One of the servants had left a candle alight by the bed. Alistair paused outside while he dismissed the guards for the night.

Moving to the bed, she pulled the sheets around her without bothering to undress. Shutting the door firmly behind him, Alistair followed suit and collapsed on the bed with a groan.

"Alistair."

"Go to sleep, love," he rolled onto his side and nestled against her. There was the sound of a soft crinkle and he rolled onto his back with a muffled curse, reaching into his pocket for the forgotten letter. "Here, for you."

Elissa sat up as she accepted the grubby letter and unfolded it. Her breathing stilled for a moment as she peered at the faded writing in the weak glow of the candle and Alistair allowed himself to wonder if he was ever destined to get more than a few hours rest for the remainder of his life.

"What now?" his tone was resigned.

"Fergus survived Ostagar," she said simply.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Alistair attempted to squint at the letter over her shoulder. "What?"

Elissa abruptly folded the vellum and dropped it on the small table. She leant across and blew the candle out before shuffling down the bed so she could lay back down.

Bemused, Alistair tried to make her out in the gloom. "Love?"

"It can wait until morning," she tugged at his shirt indicating that he should lie back beside her.

Obligingly he settled down and gathered her closer to him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, love. Got to sleep," she encouraged.

He didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

><p><em>Cheesy lines? Me? No, never... ;)<em>


	29. Necessity, Whores and Sleep

The soft glow of the embers in the grate of the fireplace drew the Arl's gaze as he sat at his desk. It had only been an hour or so since Alistair had permitted Eamon to dismiss him with the promise that he would speak further with the Warden-Commander on the young King's behalf. A promise that he would do his best to find a solution that would help to dissipate the brewing political storm which was gathering once more over Ferelden. A promise that was already nipping at his conscience.

_It was necessity._

But as he stared into the remains of the fire, it was the burning sheets of vellum which Alistair had so resolutely fed to the flames only two days ago which Eamon saw in his mind's eye. Just as the inked lineages had been incinerated as the flames licked across the vellum, so too had the great noble families of Ferelden been burned by the ferocity of Loghain's madness.

The Couslands, Howes and Mac Tirs were all but extinct. The continuation of the Guerrin bloodline rested entirely with Teagan. Sighard, Alfstanna and Bryland had all suffered their own traumas from which it would take time for their lines to recover from. The very lifeblood of Ferelden was seeping away and with no way of stemming the flow, it was vital that the ancestry of one bloodline remained constant above all others. The Theirin line had to continue. Alistair must be permitted to take his place as King.

_It was necessity._

* * *

><p>Crossing over the Drakon River and moving through the crooked streets of Denerim with the taste of the sea air beginning to bite at the back of his throat, Torih kept a watchful eye on the Antivan Crow in front of him. Purposefully keeping a few paces behind the other elf, the Orlesian Warden was becoming impatient with the seemingly unnecessary diversion away from the market district and nearer towards the docks.<p>

Lengthening his stride so that he walked only half a step behind, he growled at the Crow. "Where are you headed?"

"You do not wish to discuss our business amidst the filth of the streets, I assume?"

"I do not wish to return to Orlais either," Torih snapped.

The sound of a low chuckle drifted over the shoulder of the Antivan. "Patience, we are not far."

Left with little option save for abandoning the unexpected opportunity to interrogate the Antivan, Torih continued to shadow the footsteps of the elf though he made little effort to disguise the bad grace with which he did so.

Wherever the Crow was headed, the streets they were moving through were outwardly respectable despite being within staggering distance of the docks themselves. Save for the damage which had been inflicted during the onslaught from the Horde and the scattered debris that remained as a result, the various frontages were unremarkable. Here and there, creaking signs hung above the doors depicting what lay within but the rest kept their secrets well-hidden.

One of the buildings had both sign and lantern above its door. An orb had been carved into the sign but whether it was intended as more than the simple shape it represented, it was difficult to tell in the gloom. But it was the lit lantern, a flickering beacon of jaded promise, in a district otherwise deserted which was more clue as to the business contained within than anything else. And it was of course to this door that the Crow adjusted his direction towards.

A young human boy sat cross-legged to one side with ragged breeches and an ill-fitting shirt the only barriers between his skin and the chill of the sea air blowing in from the harbour. A small stick in hand, the lad had angled himself to that the shapes he was drawing in the dirt were perfectly framed in the murky pool of light cast by the lantern.

The Antivan made to enter the building without a second glance towards the boy but Torih slowed to a stop and squinted at the scribbles. A crude line drawing but the elf recognised what was intended as a dragon. There were a handful of stick outlines scrawled at its feet.

Crouching down beside the child, the Orlesian Warden pointed to the creature. "That's the Archdemon, isn't it?"

"Yup." A toothy grin helped to distinguish the boy's features from the shadows which fell across his face.

"And these?" Torih shifted his finger to the stick-figures.

The grin faded and although Torih could not see the boy's expression, his tone suggested the lad was pouting. "Can't you tell?"

"One, two, thr... there are five figures. This," Torih gestured at the one nearest the dragon, "this is your Hero?" He moved to the figure with a three-pronged line above the head. "And this is your King?"

A guarded grunt rewarded the elf's deductions.

"Then who are these?"

"That's him," the shadows across the boy's face rippled as he jerked his head in the direction of Zevran while pointing to the figure that lay to one side of the dragon. Belatedly, Torih realised that the short single line drawn on either side of the figure's head were intended as pointed ears. "And that's the Witch lady." The figure had a long single line drawn next to the arm in an effort to represent a staff. "And that's the dwarf man. 'Cept he's not got a beard. I dunno how to draw that."

Cocking his head to the side, Torih reached forward and with his finger drew a small triangle across the face of the squat outline. He scraped at the dirt with his nail so that it became a darker shade than the rest. Rocking back on his heels, he raised an eyebrow towards the boy as means of seeking approval.

The lad leant forward into the pool of light. Catching sight of the critical eye with which the boy studied the creative collaboration, Torih suppressed a small smile as he waited for the verdict.

The toothy grin surfaced again as the boy glanced back at Torih. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, young ser."

"You're a Grey Warden, aren't you?"

Pushing up from his crouching position, the elf straightened to his full height. "Yes."

"Like the Hero. I'll draw you next to her," the boy hunched over his drawing and began to scratch at the dirt with his stick.

Without bidding the lad goodbye, Torih turned away and fixed a glare on the Antivan who had paused in the doorway while he watched the exchange. "Well, Crow?"

"This way." Making no further comment, the Crow pushed open the door and walked into the public rooms of the brothel which lay behind.

Following in his footsteps once more, Torih cast an eye over the surroundings which the Antivan apparently regarded as more agreeable than the taverns of the market district. Scrubbed floors, polished tables and throughout the pervading stench of stale lust. But with pretty whores to at least occupy the wandering eye, Torih conceded that there were worse establishments.

"A drink, yes?" The elf threw the question over his shoulder as he approached the small bar.

Wary of the reputed skill with which the Antivan Crows wielded their poisons and surveying the small collection of bottles containing liquids of various colours, all of which could easily be laced with some toxin, Torih shook his head. "No."

"As you please," the Crow shrugged before addressing the stern-faced woman behind the bar. The small conversation which passed between them was tinged with a flirtatious lechery from the elf and a grudging familiarity from the woman. Torih had the impression that both the elf and his coin were well-known within these walls.

Pointing to one of the bottles filled with an amber liquid, the Antivan exchanged some of his said coin with the woman. Grasping the bottle in his hand, he moved to one of the tables in the middle of the room without looking back at Torih.

A quick survey of the room convinced the Orlesian Warden that he was in no immediate danger of being set upon and he moved towards the table, sliding into the wooden chair opposite the Crow. The Antivan raised the bottle to his lips and took a draught, rolling the liquid round in his mouth before swallowing.

"Let me introduce myself. My name is Zevran Arainai. Zev to my friends."

"We are not friends."

There was another gravelly chuckle as Zevran fixed a steady gaze on his new companion. "The night is still young."

"Talk, Crow." Clenching his jaw, Torih resisted the urge to grind his teeth.

Before Zevran could respond, one of the whores sashayed her way across the room towards them. Nearing the table, she trailed a hand across the table top and up the chest of the Antivan as she moved behind him. Bending down, she leant close to his head and swirled her tongue around the very tip of his ear before murmuring something to him. A seductive smile began to blossom on her face as she turned a covetous look on Torih, her lips moving faster as she whispered with greater urgency into Zevran's ear.

"Talk, Crow," Torih bristled.

"She is keen to experience the fabled Warden stamina," Zevran took another mouthful from the bottle, sucking through his teeth as he savoured the faint burning sensation as it trickled down his throat.

"Talk, Crow!"

With a sigh steeped in lustful regret, Zevran ducked his head away from the woman and patted the hand which had come to a rest on his shoulder. "It would seem not, my dear. Perhaps another time."

"Bear it in mind," she smirked at Zevran before moving onto another patron.

Glowering at the other elf, the Orlesian Warden crossed his arms across his chest. The Antivan paid no attention and took his time in taking another drink before he settled the bottle back on the table. Running a wetted tongue along the bottom of his lip, he finally settled to business. "What is it you seek here?"

"It does not concern you."

"You have not found it though, have you?"

Finding an answer in the sullen silence which followed, Zevran ran his middle finger in slow circles around the narrow rim of the bottle. "My friend, this does not have to be so torturous."

The perpetual scowl deepened and a growl escaped from between the clamped lips.

"Let us be frank, yes?" Disregarding the bottle, the Crow leant across the table as he focused all his attention on Torih. "We both wish to know what the other knows. An exchange of information as it were."

"You assume I have something to tell."

"As do you." Zevran allowed himself a broad grin as he leant back in his seat again.

A confrontational silence radiated from Torih. He was beginning to appreciate that the anticipated challenge was one that he was not as assured of winning as usual. And as Zevran lounged in the chair with a self-confidence borne from his own experiences of being master in his environment, Torih was forced to confront the unwelcome realisation that he was slowly but surely losing control of the situation while the Crow seemed to be revelling in it.

"Cousland did not travel with the army," Torih grunted at last.

"It is no secret she lay injured in the city."

"No. There is more."

"Truly?"

Torih sensed that somehow he had stumbled on an advantage. For the Antivan to dismiss an apparently irrelevant detail was at odds with the self-assured manner in which he approached everything else. The Orlesian Warden narrowed his eyes as realisation dawned. Intent as he had been on uncovering the mystery surrounding the female and bastard, he had overlooked who else the dwarf had failed to mention. "Neither did you."

"No."

"You were with her."

"Yes."

A smirk playing at the corner of Torih's mouth loosened the building tension in his jaw. "You seem to have lost your charm, Crow."

"Oh?" A quiet chuckle suggested that the Antivan was far from perturbed at either the statement or the ones which had preceded it. He rested his hand around the base of the bottle but did not lift it to take a drink.

"Why did she not travel with the army?"

"Come friend, you cannot expect all the answers and give none yourself."

Snatching the bottle from Zevran's grasp, his own fingers wrapped themselves around the slender and fragile glass neck as Torih attempted to sate his urge to inflict the same movement on the Antivan. "Tell me, Crow."

Almost as though he was aware of Torih's desire, Zevran taunted the Orlesian Warden by leaning against the table and meeting his gaze with an unblinking stare of his own. In a low voice that hinted more towards seduction than intimidation, the Antivan allowed a faint leer to break through. "You have much to learn about successful interrogation, my friend."

"No doubt you wish to teach me." Torih could taste the scorn with which he laced each and every word as they passed over his lips.

Another wide grin swallowed the lecherous leer and transformed the Crow's face as he pushed his chair back and climbed to his feet. "There is much I wish to teach but alas, I do not think you truly wish to learn."

Interest piqued by the sudden movement from the Antivan, the young whore sauntered over and draped herself around him. One hand traced the outline of his ear as she threw an inquisitive glance towards Torih. "Has he changed his mind, Zev?"

Frustration and rage at the interruption fed into one another and warped Torih's sense of perspective. Without waiting for the Antivan to answer the girl, the Orlesian Warden shoved his chair back and let it clatter to the floor. His hand was halfway to reaching for the knife at his back before he was able to gather himself.

Becoming dimly aware of the handful of men responding to the charged tension between the elves and beginning to close in on them, Torih forced his arm to drop to his side. Without waiting for further comment from either the whore or the Antivan, Torih spun on heel and stormed from the brothel. The men parted in front of him and offered no resistance once it became clear where he was headed. It appeared that whatever other rumours circulated about Grey Wardens, the one regarding their fighting skill was one that was sufficient to deter the majority save for the most foolhardy.

Slamming the door behind him, Torih came to an unceremonious halt in the empty street. The air was still cool and as his breath clouded in front of him, he realised he was panting. His body was tensed for the fight it still anticipated and he felt a desperate need to vent the surplus energy before it consumed him.

Glancing round for something, anything, which would offer him some relief, he glimpsed the scrawls which lay undisturbed in the dirt. True to his word, the young lad had drawn another figure next to the dragon complete with lines either side to represent elven pointed ears.

Staring at the scrawl with an intentness it did not truly deserve, he felt the familiar surge of resentful misery wash over him and cleanse the fog from his mind. He waited another few moments while he gained control over his breathing and limbs before taking a deliberate step over the drawing. Heading away from the brothel and further into the winding streets of the city, Torih let himself become lost to the shadows.

* * *

><p>Cocooned in the deepest depth of the night and with sleep disturbed from a day of dozing, Elissa contented herself with thumbing over the tattered piece of vellum as the despair was pushed a little further back from her mind. True, the news contained within it was weeks old and it was possible that Fergus had fallen prey to illness or bandits or the Horde. But if not, if somehow he had indeed survived Ostagar and all that could have threatened him since, then he was due in the city any day. And without the screech of a demon to haunt her every thought and darken every happiness, she could feel the smallest of hopes flitting around the cavernous space in her chest at the thought.<p>

Beside her the sound of Alistair beginning to groan while his limbs jerked as a prelude to thrashing disturbed her from her thoughts. A nightmare. Elissa frowned and discarded the vellum back onto the bedside table as she fumbled to rest a protective hand against his shoulder. Her touch halted his movement but the anxiety which flooded his body seeped through her hand and travelled up her arm causing her own muscles to flex in empathy.

Turning her focus inward with some trepidation, Elissa prodded at the back of her mind for a darker reason as to why he was experiencing nightmares. But there was nothing. Whatever Alistair was dreaming, it was a manifestation of his own fears and not an intrusion of the darkspawn.

Grazing her hand up from his shoulder, her fingers trailed through his hair in what had become a habitual movement in the last few months. Plagued by her own nightmares and too afraid to close her eyes, she had busied herself with ensuring that Alistair had at least found some respite in his sleep. Frequent practice had soon produced a gesture that was as gentle as it had been when her mother had done the same with her when she had been frightened as a child and Elissa was soon rewarded with a shuddering sigh. The tactile reassurance caused his breathing to return to a steadier rhythm and the apprehension ebbed from his body.

The knock which came at the door caused her to jump and threatened to undo all her good work as Alistair half wakened. Shrinking back from the unexpected noise, Elissa moved her hand back to his shoulder that was as much an attempt to settle him as it was to calm her own nerves. Holding her breath, she offered up a desperate prayer that whoever was there would go away.

A few moments passed that were just long enough to raise her hope that the Maker had answered her when the knock rapped against the door, sharper this time. Closer to consciousness, Alistair mumbled to himself and started to stir. Driven by a desire to prevent him from being woken, Elissa swallowed back her rising fear and forced herself to put feet to floor.

"Coming!" she called as loudly as she dared, darting a look towards Alistair. He muttered something before rolling onto his side and she waited until he stilled before standing up.

Mercifully, whoever was outside had heard her call and there were no further knocks. Pushing herself off the bed, she stumbled across the room in the gloom towards the door. She groped to find the handle and it was with a tremble that she cracked the door open only wide enough to peer out.

Relief flooded through her at the familiar sight of Zevran.

"Zev," she whispered, opening the door a fraction wider.

The elf had the sense to mimic her whispering tone although he was earnest in his request. "I must speak with Alistair."

The notion that she was being excluded stirred some vague sense of resentment within her and she frowned. Positioning herself more squarely in the doorway, she shook her head. "He's sleeping. Tomorrow, Zevran."

"Now."

Unaccustomed to being overruled, the sting of injured pride caused Elissa to straighten. Throwing a glance over her shoulder to confirm that Alistair still slept, she took a deep breath and held out a hand to Zevran.

Adjusting readily to the strange behaviour of his Warden, Zevran clasped it in a firm grip and she forced herself to step across the threshold of the room. Pulling the door to a soft close behind her, Elissa still clung to the handle as a last connection to the security the room offered. Experiencing the shaking which was transmitting from her hand to his, Zevran tightened his hold in silent encouragement.

A faltering smile rewarded his gesture followed by a long exhale. Elissa focused on his face while she struggled to regain some composure but when she finally did speak, her voice was steady. "What's going on?"

"I do not think Alistair would wish me..."

"He's sleeping, Zev. Either tell me or wait until tomorrow."

The elf took a moment to respond as though considering the options presented to him. Abruptly, he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles. "I will wait."

Taken aback, Elissa made no protest as the elf released his grip from her and turned to walk away. Unable to find the courage to pry her other hand from the door handle, she was left to call after him in a desperate whisper. "Zev, wait! Zevran!"

Swivelling on the balls of his feet, the elf turned to face her although he continued to take small steps backwards as he moved further away from her.

"Do I need to know what's going on?" The question was formed from the nervous exhale of breath that rushed from her.

"Do you wish to?"

Summoning the last remnants of denial which had sustained her over the last year, Elissa chose to ignore the knowledge that she had only ever had a sliver of control over the events which surrounded her and it was unlikely she had even that much power now. She nodded.

"Then ask him," came the advice drifting through the darkness.

* * *

><p><em>It was necessity.<em>

The tinkling echo of the wooden chair scratching against the rough stone floor filled the study as Eamon pushed himself to his feet. A heavy tread marked his movement towards the door and out into the hall.

It had been a welcome sight to see the effect the threat from the Grey Wardens had on Alistair as he recounted their objection to his title. The rise and fall of his voice; the vehement shakes of his head; the repeated slams of his fist against the table. All tinged with a faint desperation which hinted at his realisation of the consequences if he did not fight against the short-sighted demands of his Order.

Navigating the gloom-filled halls of his own estate with a familiarity that contrasted with the slowness of his pace, Eamon permitted himself a heavy sigh.

Whatever else Bryce's girl had done, she had dragged the spirit of Maric from deep within the bowels of his youngest son. Eamon could only hope that it would be understood that what he had to do now was only a continuation of what the Hero had begun.

_It was necessity. _

Her own value to Ferelden was not in question. It was precisely that value which offered the solution to the deadlock which threatened everything now. Without her, there would have been no alternative to the tyranny of Loghain. And now she provided the means by which to escape the tyranny of his daughter as permitted by the actions of the Grey Wardens.

Coming to a halt in one of the many halls, Eamon studied the door in front of him. There were sounds of movement from behind and a thin strip of light escaped from beneath which confirmed that the Warden-Commander was still awake.

Raising his hand, he clenched it into a fist.

_It was necessity_, _not betrayal._

The knock reverberated through his knuckles and echoed in the hall as though it were a knell.

What had been done to Connor was borne from necessity. And so was this.


	30. King, Warden or Hero?

"You come to me with an agenda, Arl. I would ask that you speak it plainly or leave."

Leaning back in the wooden chair, Argath studied the back of the human standing in front of the fire with his hands held out as he basked in its heat. It had been some time since the Warden-Commander had answered the knock at the door. The lack of a tainted presence hinted at the identity of the visitor even before he answered it and the dwarf had braced himself for what he had assumed would be an inevitable onslaught from an outraged noble. Yet aside from the customary exchange of platitudes and marks of respect, the man had said very little. And without Argath offering questions that required a commonplace response, the Arl had fallen into a preoccupied reverie. Yet as the hour began to slip by, the Warden-Commander found that he did not have the patience to continue with the gentle prodding that was evidently required in order to address the real reason the Arl had made a personal visit at such a late hour.

"You are right." Eamon tore his stare away from the fire and turned to face the dwarf.

"At last, we get to it," Argarth crossed his arms across his chest and settled more comfortably into the chair. "Speak then."

"Give Ferelden its King and you may take its Hero."

The statement was blurted out in the manner of a conclusion to a long and involved internal thought process. It was a process Argarth was loathed to enquire about but the implicit assumptions contained in the statement merited further examination.

"You seem confused, Arl. Aside from everything else, you request an exchange by offering the Wardens something that is already ours."

Eamon blinked and his eyes flickered to the side as he replayed the statement over in his head. It was clear the man thought his offer was self-explanatory and was thrown by what he regarded as the dwarf's deliberate obtuseness.

A confused frown lined the man's face. "You are challenging Alistair's claim to the throne based on his oath to the Grey Wardens, correct?"

Argarth nodded curtly.

"And you do so to preserve the sanctity of your Order's oath?"

"Yes."

The confusion was still evident in the tone of Eamon's voice. "But it is Elissa who the people refer to when they speak of the Grey Wardens. She is the Hero of Ferelden, the Grey Warden who raised an army and defeated the Fifth Blight. It is Elissa who you need to keep within your Order, not Alistair."

The Warden Commander allowed his incredulity to surface in a sneer. "As I discussed with Alistair, he is known as the Grey Warden King."

"True," Eamon conceded with a nod before holding up a hand as though to physically halt the argument he could already read in Argarth's face. He seemed to have located the point of misunderstanding between himself and the Commander. "But everything he has done has been tinged with the understanding that he is a monarch defending his country and people. As much as you may insist on it, Alistair is less a Grey Warden than he is a King. Elissa is more valuable to the sanctity of your oath than Alistair."

"You do not seem to realise, Arl, that I am not required to choose between them."

A sense of frustration began to seep into Eamon's demeanour. His still raised hand moved to his temples as he took a moment to regain his composure. Still rubbing at his forehead, he spoke with eyes closed. "You do not seem to realise, Commander, that you must choose if you truly wish to absolve yourself of politics. What you currently propose will have much further reaching consequences than permitting Alistair to remain as King."

"Veiled threats are of little interest to me, Arl," Argarth made his derision clear.

"The Blight has ensured that the eyes of Thedas are turned on Ferelden at this moment," Eamon snapped before visibly biting at his tongue. He swallowed and began again in a more even tone. "The eyes of Thedas are turned on us. You must consider how your actions will be seen outside this room."

"I have little interest..."

"Commander, you must appreciate the precarious peace that exists between Orlais and Ferelden. Do you truly believe any distinction will be made between the Orlesian Grey Wardens and Orlais? You are one and the same especially when you are forcing the rightfully appointed ruler of Ferelden to renounce his claim." The deepening scowl that darkened the Warden Commander's face as he recognised the truth in the words encouraged Eamon to continue. "How long do you think it will be before the Empress begins to involve herself in your affairs as a result of this? How long before other nations begin to look to their Grey Wardens with a suspicious eye? "

Argarth reached for the hidden hipflask at his waist and took a long draught. Sodding politics. To the Void with it. "That, I had not considered."

"It is true that you hold the power here, Commander. But neither Ferelden nor the Grey Wardens can afford not to come to a compromise over this."

"Perhaps," the dwarf conceded at last as the last of the ale trickled down the back of his throat. He shot a cagey look towards Eamon. "And what did your King think when you presented him with this co-called compromise?"

The Arl made a deliberate movement back towards the fireplace but he seemed unaware of the telltale tap of his finger against the side of his leg.

Spying the movement, a dry chuckle rose from the Warden Commander. "This is a dangerous game you are playing, Arl."

"It is necessary."

"Yes, it would seem so," Argarth rose to his feet. "Of course, your compromise relies on Cousland being of significant worth to us in order to overlook his oath."

Eamon started round and fixed an outraged glare on the dwarf. "She is the Hero of Ferelden."

"A meaningless title when actions speak louder than words," Argarth shook his head dismissively. "However she remains of interest to us for the moment. I have yet to speak with her. It may be that your offer may be more appealing once I have done so."

"This is a delicate solution to a complicated problem, Commander. I would urge you to act quickly."

"On that, we can agree. I intend to speak with her in the morning."

The glare faded as Eamon considered his position. He turned so he could look at the Commander straight on. "Alistair has ordered that guards are positioned outside her door when he is not with her." A pointed look was fixed on the dwarf. "You will not be able to summon her in the same manner you did with him."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I will accompany you to her room and ensure that you gain access to her. You will need to conduct your debrief there."

"Acceptable. But I did not imagine that you would wish this meeting between us to become common knowledge?"

"Alistair requested that I speak with you." The Arl grimaced as he spoke. "I would appreciate some discretion in terms of its content."

Argarth chuckled again. "As would I, Arl."

"I will send for you in the morning. Around eight bells."

"Agreed."

Eamon inclined his head towards the Commander before he made to take his leave from the room. Pulling the door open, he was startled by the sight of an elf lounging against the wall opposite. Not wishing to engage in further discussion, Eamon made no effort to acknowledge him and departed down the gloom-filled corridor.

Through the still open door, Argarth gestured that his Second enter. He ran a critical eye over the elf as he stepped into the light; a swollen eye that was not far off from blackening and a cut lip which still trickled a little and forced the scent of copper into the room.

"Better?" he asked at last.

Torih leant forward in a graceful bow towards his Commander.

"Then we have much to discuss. Here," Argarth tossed the hipflask to the elf who caught it with little effort. "Tomorrow, we are to meet the Hero of Ferelden."

* * *

><p><em>Dreich.<em>

A smile flickered across Elissa's face as she looked over the city. Whether it was the news of Fergus's survival which stirred the memory of her father's ghillie and the hard guttural words which punctuated his speech, she did not know. But the light rain which dulled the early dawn light to a hazy grey and caused a choking smoke from the still-lit pyres to drift across the city created a view from the window which could only be described as _dreich_. At least, she hoped so. Eoghan had often despaired at her delicate elocution which stunted the onomatopoeic flow and disrupted the true fervour of the strange words from being communicated. She had once spent an afternoon wandering around the castle doing her best impression of a spitting cat as she attempted to regurgitate the harsh sound that was formed right at the back of the throat until her mother had caught wind of the strange behaviour of her youngest child and brought the exercise to an abrupt end. Eoghan had declined to teach her any words after that particular incident. Instead any plea had been met with an amused grin and the ever tantalising dismissal of _awa' wi ye, quine_.

The chill of the past snaked itself around her and Elissa curled her arms a little tighter around her upper body. Definitely _dreich_, she was certain.

A low mumble of a mutter from behind her helped to scatter the more painful memories from the forefront of her mind and she turned her back to the window so that she could study the still sleeping man in the bed.

_Sleekit_.

Another of Eoghan's words. Her understanding of it was only through association; it was one of the words Eoghan had used to describe Rendon Howe. Lurking in the courtyard, she had overheard him talking with one of the stable boys as they prepared the horses for a hunt. Delighted at the unexpected gift of a new word, she had skipped out into full view and had watched as Eoghan's eyes widened in panic. Elissa had flashed him a wide toothy grin that clearly indicated their new status as co-conspirators and that she was more than willing to pay the price of secrecy for her new prize. His face had crinkled into a reciprocal half grin and she had left him to his preparations with a small wave n order to search out a private space to practise her new verbal acquisition.

But no. _Sleekit_ was too strong a word. _Sleekit _was deliberate, malicious and conniving. There had been flashes of those qualities in Alistair over their time together. Never sustained though and never towards her. Besides, she had known that he had been hiding something. And in fairness to him, he had never denied it. He had simply declined to tell her and she had just as simply accepted his rebuff, albeit after a few half-hearted protestations. No, _sleekit_ was unfair.

_Canny_, then.

Yes, she imagined Eoghan would approve of that. Alastair was doing his best to go _canny_ with her. She could understand that, mindful of her most recent state of mind, he was doing what he thought was needed in order to protect her. The jagged edges of her fragmented mind had dulled since the defeat of the Archdemon. Despite no longer being the sharp shards which slashed at her soul with every thought that passed through her head, she knew within herself that whatever secrets he held had been an unwelcome but practical necessity. What was more frightening was that she was also aware that those secrets were probably still required.

But Elissa had recognised that expression on Zevran's face. _That_ look. Always, _that_ look. One that had been turned on her by countless others and always accompanied by an expectation. Nothing good had ever come from _that_ look. Whatever it was that Alistair wished to shield her from, it was clear from _that_ look that events would soon be catching up with her regardless of what either she or Alistair wished.

And Maker, oh how she did wish he could keep protecting her. She had no wish to take that from him. As far as she was concerned, he could continue to be her knight in dented armour defending her from the fiercesome dragon. Except the dragon had been slain, the grubby and mismatched armour replaced in favour of one befitting a King and there was no room in the fairytale for anything but a brave and beautiful princess.

Elissa ran her fingers down the bridge of her nose with a rueful sigh. Oh sod it; this princess was going to have a broken nose to match her broken mind. Leave it to the scholars and storytellers to explain that particular ugly truth away. Too many over-ambitious escapes attempts from the impenetrable Tower. There, that was as good an explanation as any.

A small snort of amusement escaped from said nose and the sound provoked an unintended response from Alistair. He instinctively stretched an arm out as he reached for her but finding her side of the bed empty, he started up and stared fuzzily down at the space beside him as he tore himself from the depths of the Fade. The sheer panic written on his face eased as he regained enough consciousness to realise that he could still sense her taint.

For a moment, as brief as it had been, Elissa knew he thought she had left him again. She pushed herself off from where she had been leaning against the wall and returned to the bed, perching on the edge as she laid a hand on his leg. "Here, love."

Blinking at her as his sleep laden eyes focused in and out, there was a small expression of suspicious doubt which lingered on his face as he struggled to reconcile what he saw with what he had feared.

"It's alright," she soothed, shaking his leg gently. "I'm here."

As though to test the validity of the claim, he enveloped her in his arms and pulled her down against him. Unable to stifle the giggle that was entirely inappropriate to setting the tone for what she knew she had to force him to talk about, Elissa was at least rewarded by his own husky laugh in response.

"You're cheery," she teased him.

Alistair nuzzled at the nape of her neck. "Amazing what a good night's sleep does."

In an effort to ignore both the sleep roughened growl of his voice and the tickle of his breath against her ear, Elissa clung to pragmatics. "You were having a nightmare."

The movement of his mouth against her skin stilled as he cast his inner focus back over the dim memories of his dreams. Another husky chuckle vibrating through his throat told her he had found it. "Uh... yeah."

"Uh yeah?" Wriggling out of his hold before she could become caught up in it further, Elissa arched an eyebrow towards him.

Settling against the pillows, an embarrassed grin was already spreading across his face. "Never mind."

"Oh no, I think I want to hear this. What can give you a nightmare but make you laugh?"

Alistair muttered something under his breath as his gaze sidled away from her and towards the foot of the bed. His voice was too low for her to make out and she leant forward while she titled her head so that her ear was closer to his mouth. "What?"

"There was a cheese shortage," he repeated.

Her head jerked back and she stared at him as his cheeks began to flush at the admission.

"Maker, Alistair," she groaned as she rubbed at her forehead in mock pain. "The horrors you can imagine."

"You have no idea, love," his face smoothed out into a deadpan expression. "No idea."

Elissa snorted again and her shoulders shook as she tried not to laugh. The grin surfaced on Alistair's face and he made to catch hold of her again but she evaded his grasp by jumping to her feet and taking a few light-footed steps away from the bed.

"Zevran came to speak with you during the night, love." Even as she spoke, Elissa chastised herself for the bluntness of the statement. She regretted it even more as the good mood dissipated from Alistair and he sat bolt upright.

"What? Did he leave a message?"

For a moment that was longer than it should have been, she considered lying. The secrets had been both made and kept with good-intentions and what was more, with ones that she could fully understand. And that would make convincing Alistair to give them up all the more difficult; for both of them.

A stony glare settled on her as Alistair began to come to his own conclusions about her sudden reticence in answering. The anticipation of an answer was already there. The developing suspicion that she had indeed spoken with Zevran. The foundations for the bluff were all there and she would only have to build on it. A gamble there, a venture here; the truth could be teased out of him without him even realising.

"He wouldn't tell me, love."

The words were blurted out before she could be seduced by her own argument. She would _not_ play him like she did the rest of her marks. There were worse requests she had made of him than to ask him to reveal his secrets.

A range of reactions flashed across Alistair's face but the most prominent was a guarded scepticism. He didn't believe her.

At the back of her mind, she heard herself make a comment with regards to the timing of his doubts but squashed the niggle before it could influence her voice. Approaching him with a willing meekness in an effort to convince him, Elissa expanded on the brief meeting. "He asked to see you but I wouldn't let him wake you. I told him he could tell me or wait until morning. He said he would wait."

"Did he say where he would be?"

"No, just that he would wait." Clambering back on the bed, Elissa folded her legs beneath her so that she sat cross-legged as his feet. "Something is happening with the Wardens, isn't it?"

Alistair shot her a silent accusation.

"A Grey Warden was asking to see me yesterday. An elf. Liahn spoke with him instead."

"Oh," his face eased back into a more neutral passivity. Pushing the bedding away from him, he drew his legs from beneath the sheets and swung his feet around her as he scooted towards the edge of the bed.

"Love." Elissa grabbed a hold of the wrinkled sleeve of his linen shirt while her pragmatic side whispered to her that they would either start having to undress before bed regardless of how tired they were or Alistair would need to start bringing a spare set of clothes to change into. "They'll keep trying to speak with me. You can't keep them away forever. I need to know what's going on."

Alistair came to a halt with her hand on his sleeve and his feet resting on the floor. From where she was perched, she watched as his toes curled in protest as the cold surface of the stone flagstones robbed them of any warmth. As means of a peace offering, her hand fell from his sleeve and she tugged at his leather boots she had appropriated before pushing them over the side of the bed where they landed with a dull thud next to his feet.

Wordlessly, Alistair wriggled a foot into the neck of each boot although he made no effort to bend over to pull them on properly.

Taking his disinterest in dressing as an encouraging sign, Elissa shuffled closer to him so her knee was touching his thigh and she slipped her arm around his. Sensing that it was important to just wait, she leant her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Sitting side by side, the silence grew passing from comfortable to expectant to increasingly oppressive as time wore on. Beginning to regret her decision not to try and trick the information from him, it was with some relief that Elissa felt his shoulders straighten as he took a deep breath.

"I spoke with the Warden-Commander yesterday."

She allowed a few moments to pass before she spoke to avoid sounding as though she was interrogating him. "What did he say?"

"A lot. None of it good."

Sensing that there was a significant amount of detail to be expanded on, Elissa remained silent but she lifted her head and opened her eyes so she could look at him.

Alistair turned his head towards her but his gaze fell short and came to a rest on the hand she had entwined into his during the silence. "I told him everything about what happened. Except about Morrigan. It seemed simpler."

"A good decision, love."

"Nicely patronised," his gaze did shoot up to meet hers then and there was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. Before she could apologise, he returned to the subject in hand and his eyes focused on his boots once more. "It hasn't seemed to put them off though. They know something happened for you to survive."

"I guess it was too much to expect they would chalk it up to a miracle." Absent mindedly, Elissa chewed on the corner of her lip.

A small laugh escaped from Alistair but the sound was hollow and tinged with a bitterness that cut her to the core. "Maybe."

Consistently the idealist, the optimist, the light-relief, it was becoming apparent that her actions and the added strain of whatever the Grey Wardens had discussed with him had robbed him of most of his reserves. Elissa squeezed his hand gently. "What else, love?"

Having committed to revealing the initial problem, Alistair made no effort to obscure the rest. "The Commander is using the Joining to challenge my claim to throne."

The taste of copper flooded her mouth as her tooth nicked at the thin skin of her lip. Ignoring the sting as her tongue flicked across the small sliver of raw flesh, she concentrated on not grinding Alistair's hand into a pulp. "Can he do that?"

"I don't know. He seems convinced he can. Eamon has promised to speak with him."

"That's something at least," she glanced at his face.

He remained quiet but she saw as his jaw clenched. His legs drew against the bed as his body tensed and she felt the internal fight as he struggled not to crush her hand in the same way she had had to fight moments earlier.

A familiar dread began to spread from the pit of her stomach and sent a numbing chill through her body. Knowing that Alistair had reached a point where he would not tell her unless prodded, Elissa had no idea if the words would form themselves but finally she heard her voice, cracking but audible, and felt as the words were pushed from her throat to make the demand. "Tell me."

"The Commander wants to recall you to Weisshaupt for... leaving."

"Without you." It was intended as a question but the flatness of her voice revealed to both of them that she was aware it was in fact a statement.

"Let him try it." A half-hearted joke encased in earnest promise, Alistair jerked his head up and turned to her.

Nestled beside him with her hand interlaced into his, Elissa only shook her head as the city bells chimed eight. It was her turn to avoid his gaze as she become engrossed in the scuffed leather of the boots. Scuffed, battered and close to worn done.

"Stop." The single word was accompanied by a firm grip of her chin as Alistair forced her head up to face him. "Stop, love."

A wan smile traced across her face. "Stop what?"

He stilled and a frown began to wrinkle his forehead. His grip on her chin slackened and she thought he was about to let her head drop when it tightened again. Focusing a hard stare on her, she watched as he braced himself for whatever he had decided to say.

"You know I love you, right?"

Of everything she had expected him to say, that took her by surprise. A prickling sting drifted across her cheeks as the words created a cascade of memories in her head and she pulled her chin out of his grasp. She searched searching his face for some reassurance that he had not meant to tear open the still fragile wounds that existed between them as a result of the conversation those words had begun.

Alistair held her gaze without flinching but offered no sign of apology or remorse.

Bewildered at the intensity of her own reaction, she extended her legs from beneath her and stumbled to her feet. Gasping as the tingling sensation of numb muscles made her stagger, she pitched forward and would have fallen flat on her face if Alistair had not caught her.

Standing with her back leaning against his chest, she tentatively stretched her legs and his arms loosely circled around her waist her as she concentrated on coaxing the numbness out of her limbs. Deliberately taking her time, Elissa waited for him to speak but he remained a mute support behind her.

She couldn't stand it. "Yes."

"Good." She felt as he rested his chin against the top her head.

Anticipating some further comment, Elissa remained still but when none was forthcoming she wrestled herself out of his hold and spun round with a resentful scowl. "Is that it?"

"What did you expect, love?"

Finding that he was now waiting for an answer that was proving to be strangely evasive, she was forced to give a half shrug.

"You convinced me to do something I wouldn't have chosen to do just by telling me that, Elissa." The rare use of her name caused her to flinch and her arms curled round her body as she dropped her head even as Alistair continued. "You were about to give up, love. And I don't know how else to convince you to keep going."

Elissa raised her head just enough so that she could study him from beneath her eyelashes. "There's nothing we can do if the Warden-Commander..."

"Apparently there was nothing we could do about the Blight," his voice hardened as his temper broke through. "Apparently there was nothing we could do about Loghain. Apparently there was nothing we could do about the inevitable sacrifice required to kill an Archdemon. Yet here we are. So much for nothing."

"We had some idea, some plan of what we needed to do..."

Her protest was interrupted by the telltale creep of scratching at the back of her head. Grey Wardens. The stiffening of Alistair's posture revealed that he had sensed them too and the wild look he threw in the direction of the door suggested that he was as thrown off-guard by their arrival as she was.

Spinning round, she watched him as he grabbed at his discarded boots and hauled them onto his feet. He rubbed his hands through his hair in a last ditch attempt to disguise the fact that he had spent the night before stuffing the bottom of his shirt into his breeches.

A short sharp knock came at the door and Elissa flinched, retreating a few steps away from it. Seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye, Alistair shot her a frantic look even as he stepped to answer the knock.

She smothered the groan that wanted to escape from between her clenched lips as his hand fumbled at the latch and he cracked the door open in a manner that was similar to how she had reacted to Zevran's intrusion last night.

"Eamon," the surprise in Alistair's voice at his uncle's presence was quickly suppressed as he addressed the rest of the group. "Commander; Wardens."

"The Commander needs to speak with the Hero of Ferelden," the sound of Eamon's voice floated into the room.

The title rang in her ears. Liahn had told her of it but it had seemed remote and unconnected in the small room with only Leliana to acknowledge it and she would never had asked her friend to address her by anything other than the Bard's own particular longstanding endearment.

"Of course. She's... uh... not dressed. Just a minute." Abruptly shutting the door, he whirled round to face her. Taking a few strides towards her, he took her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "Let me and Eamon come up with the plan, love. All you need to do is give them your report. Please."

Judging from that introduction it seemed that Eamon did have a plan, of sorts. And it rested on her personifying that title. Running a dry tongue across her lower lip, Elissa swallowed. "Alright, love."

Relief flooded through his face and his hands moved from her shoulders to cup her face. The brief clash of lips, teeth and tongue was a confusing conflation of give and take, from whom and to whom she doubted either of them truly knew, before he broke away from her and back to the door.

_Smeddum_.

The unbidden whisper from the past weaved itself through her growing fear and supplied one attribute that surely any Hero would have. What it truly meant, she had no idea. It was another word that Eoghan had taught her through association. She could only hope she would not let the memory of either of them down.

Alistair pulled open the door and gestured that it was appropriate to enter. Eamon remained outside but two dwarves and an elf stepped into the room. All three assaulted her with a judgemental stare and it was with an effort that Elissa stepped forward into the role she needed to perform.

Hand outstretched in greeting, she found the words came as though a memorised script. "I believe we have much to discuss, Commander. I am Elissa Cousland; Hero of Ferelden."


	31. Vessel of the Spirit

_When did she stop biting her fingernails?_

Jagged half moon slivers of nail crowned each finger of the hand that Elissa held outstretched towards the Warden-Commander and as a silent tension crept through the room while she and Argarth stared one another down, Alistair found himself fixating on the irrelevant detail.

The reality of having darkspawn blood and gore trapped beneath her nails was one that had made a significant impact on the young noblewoman and ever since Ostagar, he was unable to remember seeing her fingers other than bitten and chewed. That and he could barely remember a time when her hands were not streaked in something or other. Perhaps it was the lack of dirt which made the detail all the more conspicuous.

Her fingers twitched but she straightened them before the movement was especially noticeable and if he had not been staring at her hand then he would have missed it. His gaze travelled up her arm and he caught the slight tremble which revealed itself in her upper arm even as her hand remained in midair. Despite the confidence with which she had introduced herself with, the refusal to acknowledge it from the Commander had put her on the back foot before she had had time to properly gather herself and she was beginning to doubt her abilities.

A surge of protectiveness prompted him to take a step towards her. Sensing his nearing proximity to her, Elissa wrenched her stare away from Argarth and widened her eyes at Alistair in silent protest. He understood the message she was communicating to him but found it difficult to believe that his presence near her was more destructive than forcing himself to be apart from her. Yet as he made to take another step closer, the faint tremble in her arm passed downwards and her hand began to waver properly for the first time.

It spoke to his better judgement and Alistair ground to a halt with only a few tantalising strides between them. He wanted to be there at her side. Protect her, shield her, defend her. Face down with her these Wardens who could only see titles even while they claimed to recognise none save their own. Yes, he had asked her to give her report to them but he had not intended that she do it without him.

As contradictory as he felt his behaviour was however, his compliance to her unspoken order restored a shadow of her old self and the shake in her hand stilled as Elissa looked back to Argarth. A deliberate clearing of her throat broke the silence and motivated the Warden-Commander to finally acknowledge the gesture.

"You may call me Argarth," he clasped her hand with a brief squeeze then released it. "I have heard many tales of your accomplishments, Warden."

"I imagine the reality will pale into comparison with the stories, Commander." Elissa allowed her arm to fall to her side as she straightened. Looking over Argarth's shoulder towards Korgik and Torih, she offered each a bow as a mark of respect towards their seniority.

Introductions were made with a smooth efficiency and the Warden-Commander glanced towards Alistair and Eamon who still stood in the doorway behind him. "You may leave us."

A streak of obstinate rebellion surfaced in him but with no word of protest from Elissa coupled with the fact that she was pointedly averting her gaze convinced him otherwise. Feeling the firm hand with which Eamon gripped at his shoulder, Alistair allowed himself to nod. He would have wished for a more controlled introduction between Elissa and the Orlesian Wardens but he had to trust that Eamon had good reason for permitting the Wardens access to her without prior warning.

As both men retreated from the room, Torih was quick to move to the door and shut it without further comment. Left alone in the hallway, Alistair turned to face Eamon.

"I guess you've spoken with the Commander?"

"I have only spoken with him briefly. He wished to speak with Elissa first." Whether it was the tiredness that was lining Eamon's face or being confronted with the undeniable evidence that Alistair had completely disregarded his recommendation that the younger man sleep apart from his betrothed, the disapproval with which he cast an eye over Alistair was marked. "But to find you like this only harms our argument."

Translating the misconceptions that he could tell Eamon had already begun to form in his head, Alistair tugged at his shirt in a distracted attempt to smooth the creases from it and prevent a blush from travelling across his cheeks. Maker, he hadn't even done anything that was worthy of blushing about. "I don't think the Wardens really care about where I sleep."

"Then you truly are a fool," the Arl snapped. "And if you cannot be trusted to control yourself then I will make other arrangements for her accommodation."

More accustomed to the rough edge of Isolde's tongue rather than Eamon's, Alistair could only blink at the man. Frayed anxiety over Elissa, defensive pride that he did not deserve this rebuke and reluctant but unshakeable filial obedience towards his foster parent all merged into one crushing weight against his chest so that he could only force out a weak echo. "Control myself?"

The repetition prompted a strangled noise from Eamon which Alistair was left to interpret as a mixture of disgust and rage. The Arl spun on his heel and began to stalk away from the younger man but left with little option except to follow, Alistair trailed after him. But his inability to see an alternative action only seemed to aggravate the man further.

"Maker help us, Alistair," Eamon spat over his shoulder and his face was contorted into an ugly sneer. "You are to be King. It would a welcome surprise if you would demonstrate some behaviour which actually proved it."

Maker knew he was easy-going but even he had a limit to the amount of humiliation he could tolerate especially when he was completely unprepared for the way in which the situation had escalated beyond his control. He had little idea why Eamon had turned on him so suddenly and a resentful bewilderment forced Alistair to a halt. Eamon made no effort to offer an apology and as Alistair stared after the retreating figure of the man, he was left in no doubt as to the level of respect he held in the eyes of at least one of his nobles.

"I would not tolerate such behaviour if I were you."

Alistair flinched at the sound of Zevran's voice from somewhere behind him and he felt the blush he had managed to suppress minutes earlier tear across his face at the realisation that he had been caught in disgrace. Maker, he was embarrassed about being in _disgrace_. The flush deepened into a burn with the knowledge that the only room Zevran was likely to have been in was Leliana's and that if the elf had been motivated to come to the door then it was likely that Leliana and probably even Liahn had over-heard the one-sided conversation.

"Just as well I'm not you then," Alistair snarled into the empty space in front of him, refusing to turn round. Feeling obligated to defend Eamon, he added, "he has my best interests at heart."

"I can see that."

Ignoring the habitual scepticism which seemed to surface in the elf's voice whenever Alistair was nearing the end of his patience, he focused on the more pressing matter. "What did you come to see me about last night."

"It would seem to be of little relevance now the Orlesians are speaking with Elissa."

"If it was so insignificant then what was the bloody point in waking me in the middle of the night?"

"It was not for me to decide that it was insignificant." There was a small pause. "And I did not expect that you would allow the Wardens access to her so readily."

With hindsight, Alistair should have debated whether the judgement he could hear so clearly in the elf's words was in any way influenced by the stagnating pool of resentment in his stomach. But he had neither energy nor inclination for debate and instead he simply reacted. Rounding on Zevran, he closed the distance between them in a matter of strides. "And what does that mean?"

To his credit, the elf maintained his cool exterior even as the larger man loomed over him. "I do not wish to fight, Alistair."

The lack of reaction forced some sense of perspective into his head and Alistair stumbled backwards to diminish the threatening posture he had adopted all too easily. All too aware that he had overstepped himself, Alistair paced in front of the elf for a few minutes while he attempted to work up the courage to admit to his mistake. Finding that none was forthcoming however, he let out a weary groan and simply turned to face Zevran.

He coupled an apologetic shrug with "I'm in trouble, amn't I?"

A small grin greeted the revelation before Zevran turned and closed the door behind him.

"It would seem so, Alistair. But what is life without it?" With a small gesture which communicated that Alistair should follow him, Zevran began to walk down the hallway. "Come. If the Arl does not wish your company then I can make use of it."

Faced with the reality that he had little option but to bow to the elf's wishes after his behaviour, Alistair contented himself with a grumbled mutter under his breath before heading after Zevran. "As if that doesn't sound ominous enough."

* * *

><p>Left alone to perform the performance demanded of her, Elissa allowed her eyes to flicker over the three Wardens. It was a habit that had formed in partnership with her increasingly persuasive silver-tongue and she had often been able to glean small tidbits of information which had helped her to stay one step ahead of most.<p>

The dwarven Warden-Commander. He stood where he had come to a halt in the middle of the room earlier and seemed at ease, looking between herself and his Wardens. The marking on his face suggested casteless but the self-assured manner in which he conducted himself revealed that he had long since made peace with the fact. But whether that peace had been found before or after his Joining, she couldn't tell.

The elf remained next to the door where he leant against the wall with arms crossed. His stepping to close the door hinted at his position as the extension of his Commander's right-hand and she was confident in her guess that this was his Second. There were no markings on his face but the confrontational glare he levelled at her whenever she caught his eye hinted towards an arrogant defiance that was not commonly found in the Alienages. Her understanding of Dalish customs was limited but she thought that the markings were gained as part of a coming of age ritual. This elf had none. If he was Dalish then he had been removed from his own clan before he had been given the opportunity to earn his markings. But surely that would have been too young for the Grey Wardens.

The second dwarf. He too was without markings which suggested some history of a caste. The deliberate way he set out his vellum and ink on the table spoke to his former life. A historian or scholar, she supposed. Another seemingly odd choice for the Wardens. Unlike the elf, he kept his focus on his materials and only glanced up to give a nod towards the Commander.

Argarth cleared his throat and Elissa braced herself for the three stares which now swung onto her.

"As I am sure you are aware, we have already spoken with Alistair."

Elissa debated whether questioning the wisdom of that decision was necessary or a step too far. Certainly, she would have expected that the Wardens would have made some effort to prevent corroboration between them. But to do so would have suggested a certainty of wrong-doing that it appeared they were yet to confirm in their own minds and for her to emphasise the point would only serve to imply a guilty conscience. It was an implication which would be founded in truth but let them discover it for themselves. She had no intention of laying the fact at their feet.

But then again, perhaps the observation was a test. A test of her and her own abilities. Which abilities, she had no idea and Argarth's closed expression offered no clue. Duncan had also kept the same passive look and she wondered whether it was a necessary requirement for promotion up the ranks. If it was then she already knew that Torih was destined to remain a Second until the day of his Calling.

No, it was too early to make the decision and so Elissa settled for a simple but clearly spoken, "Yes."

"But I would ask that you would also tell us your version of events."

"Of course. Where would you like me to begin?"

"You were recruited as a result of treachery against your family, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then begin with the events that occurred immediately prior to your recruitment."

Elissa moved towards the bed and sat down, pulling her legs up so that her arms wrapped around them and her chin rested on her knee. She raised an eyebrow at Argarth before glancing over at the chair in the corner.

The dwarf hesitated for a moment before accepting the silent offer and retreated to the chair, settling himself before giving Elissa another nod. "When you're ready, Warden."

* * *

><p>Zevran had led him towards the main hall and it was only then that Alistair had thought it might be prudent to question the elf further. On hearing that Zevran intended to show him the various recovery efforts that were occurring around the city, Alistair had stopped and insisted that he change into something less creased and possibly more majestic. If Eamon wanted him to demonstrate behaviour more befitting a King in order to better advance their argument to the Wardens then preventing his people from seeing him as slovenly more often than necessary was probably a step in the right direction. The elf had made some choice comments as to his vanity but eventually relented and agreed to meet Alistair in an hour.<p>

Now suitably dressed, at least as far as he was concerned although he had no doubt Leliana would have had some choice words for him, Alistair found Zevran lounging at one of the tables in the main hall with a handful of guards who all straightened to attention at the sight of him. Zevran on the other hand made no such effort.

"What's this?" Alistair motioned to the guards to stand at ease as he approached the elf.

"Clothes alone do not make a King. These are your personal guard."

"Oh." Alistair glanced back at the small group. "Are they aware the most dangerous thing in this room is you?"

A wide grin spread across Zevran's face. "Has anyone told you that you hold a grudge, my friend?"

"Only against those who have tried to kill me."

"A practical attitude." The elf rose to his feet with a laugh and straightened his leathers. "Come then. I do not expect that you will wish to be separated from Elissa once the Wardens have finished speaking with her."

Alistair fell into step with Zevran and the guards arranged themselves around the pair without further guidance. Doing his best to convince himself that it was similar to travelling with the ragtag band of companions Elissa had collected or, more distant still, the drills he had completed during his Templar training, Alistair suppressed the claustrophobic feeling that swarmed over him.

The group swept out the main doors, doors Alistair found he was no longer expected to open or close, and towards the main gates which led out into the marketplace. The courtyard was an efficient bustling of various people all attending to their chores. It seemed the best way to recover from the damage and devastation of a Horde was to deny it had ever existed and continue as close to normal as possible.

"Watch out!" A gruff yell echoed round the stone walls and all movement ceased as each person attempted to work out whether the instruction was intended for them.

Each of the guards reached for their swords but months of travelling together meant Zevran took his cue from Alistair. Unable to sense any darkspawn but with no indication of any other form of danger, Alistair glanced towards the elf with a bemused shrug.

"Bloody little blighter!" The bad-tempered voice resounded again as a small yet agile bundle of fur streaked across the courtyard from the direction of the stables.

Various snorts of amusement sounded from around Alistair as the guards stood down at the sight of the Mabari puppy making a bid for freedom. More amusing still was the sight of what Alistair assumed was one of the kennel apprentices huffing and puffing as he attempted to catch the little thing.

Zevran let out a sharp whistle. The little ears pricked up and the pup slowed while it attempted to work out where the enticing sound had come from. The elf whistled again which caused the pup to skid to a halt before charging in the direction of the small group.

"Sodding little runt! Hey! Come here!"

The boy attempted to head it off by diving towards it and catching it in his arms but the little dog was too fast and the boy could only manage to grasp at its tail. The pup yelped and tumbled to the ground causing a small dust cloud to envelop it. Screaming as though mortally wounded, it rolled around before coming to an undignified rest at Alistair's feet. Taking this interruption to its amateur dramatics as one insult too far, the pup chose to communicate its irritation by doing its best to savage the offending appendage.

"Oi," Alistair scooped it up in one hand and held it up so he could look it in the eye. "You ran into me."

A tempestuous growl suggested that the pup had other ideas.

"Oh Maker," the boy scrambled to his feet and his face was an ashen colour. "I... uh... I'm sorry, your Majesty..."

"No harm done. Who's this?"

The boy glowered at the pup still in Alistair's hand and the fury he felt towards the poor dog seemed to make him forget himself. "The bane of my life."

"I felt the same way about a dragon," Alistair grinned. "Your one is cuter."

Evidently resentful that its ferocity was being judged solely on its looks, the pup attempted to sink its little peg teeth into the fleshy part at the base of his thumb.

"Vicious little beast, aren't you?" he remarked with a small wince.

The pup eyed him with teeth still clamped round his hand. As means of establishing who was in fact in charge, Alistair gently turned the pup on its back while disengaging his thumb from its mouth. He tickled its belly but disliking the way in which its world was now upturned, the pup began to squirm.

"Stop it," the boy hissed at the dog as he shot a worried look towards Alistair.

The pup obediently stilled but made a point of filling its little chest with as much air as possible so that the sigh which escaped sounded especially world weary. Apparently the little creature had accepted that this escape attempt was an unmitigated failure.

"When did Eamon start keeping hounds in Denerim?"

"This isn't one of the Arl's."

"Oh. Why are you looking after her?" Alistair righted the little thing in his hand and scratched at her head. Her nose quivered as she scented at his hand having decided that resistance was evidently futile.

"We found her while helping to search for survivors," the boy shrugged. "She hasn't been branded and she's too young to have been imprinted. We thought it was better we took her then let her starve on the streets."

"She appears grateful for the deed," Zevran remarked drily.

"Little blighter," the boy repeated with a treacherous look towards the pup.

"Here," Alistair offered her back to the boy who accepted the wriggling bundle with no small amount of reluctance. Cradling her against his chest, he bowed to the man before running back towards the stables.

"It seems you share Elissa's talent for collecting lost souls," Zevran commented as the group continued towards the gates.

Alistair managed to bite back the flippant comment which danced tantalisingly on the end of his tongue regarding the usefulness of a Mabari puppy. Neither he nor Zevran had broached the subject of the elf's return to Denerim from the hills yet there was little doubt that the Mabari had been diligent in the ultimate defence of his mistress's friends.

"It wouldn't be right to take on another Mabari."

Zevran seemed surprised by the statement and his forehead wrinkled into a frown. "Any ally should be welcome, no?"

"Not at the cost of replacing another."

The frowned deepened as Zevran worked out the argument that had prompted the initial refusal. "By that logic, do you intend to never travel with another healer?"

"That's different. Travelling with another healer isn't the same as replacing Wynne." Referring to the mage triggered a long overdue stab of regret and Alistair glanced back at Zevran as they passed out of the estate and into the marketplace. "Where is she?"

Zevran waved a hand to the crowd which had already begun to collect in the centre of the market at the news of his appearance. "I will show you once you have met with your adoring public."

* * *

><p>An odd sensation; hearing the words trip from her tongue which detailed a story she felt entirely disconnected from. She knew the events had happened. She understood that she had been at the forefront of it all. But living in the present had left little time to dwell on the past and recounting what had happened once it had been and gone was a strange feeling.<p>

It was unfortunate too that in another time and another place she believed that she would have enjoyed being in the company of the Commander. From the occasional question and interruption, she saw someone who was practical and straight-forward with little patience for the small snippets of guile and charm she had tested him with. Responding to the small revelations towards his personal preferences, Elissa had foregone the posturing and fronting that she would have believed was expected from a Hero and instead remained on the bed although she now sat cross-legged rather than with her legs drawn up against her chest. Her restless fingers had picked at the blanket and eventually succeeded in pulling a thread from it which she curled and uncurled round her finger while she spoke.

"And you fled because..." Argarth prompted with a hint of annoyance.

Elissa started and her head jerked up in confusion. Swallowing, she found her throat dry and realised that she had fallen silent mid-sentence and her finger was an odd greyish purple from the lack of circulation caused by the thread which cut into her flesh. Flaming Andraste, when had she pulled it so tight?

Unwinding the thread, she kept her focus on her finger as the flesh began to return to a more natural colour. After clearing her throat once or twice, she was able to admit, "I didn't want to die."

"An honest answer, if not an inspiring one," the dwarf remarked with a grunt.

"There is not much else I can tell you." Having freed her finger from the thread, Elissa moved her hand up towards her shoulder and gingerly pressed against the area through the thin material of her shirt. There was no scar to mark the skin but there was a slight numbness to the area that was uncomfortable although not especially painful. "I woke up in the Chantry a few days later."

"As a result of the healing from your Circle mage?"

"Yes."

The Commander leant forward in his chair and took a succession of breaths as though searching for a way to ask his question without providing a hint towards the answer. "Tell us of your injuries, Warden."

"An arrow wound with the poison tip embedded in my shoulder." She had worked out as much before she had fallen unconscious in the hills.

"A superficial wound. From what you have told us, it seems you have endured worse."

Elissa shrugged. "I always had access to an experienced and talented healer."

"So the wound was allowed to fester beyond the healing skill of your rogues," Argarth mused before nodding as sign that he accepted that much of her explanation. "Still, this raises further questions. How was it that your mage was capable of healing a wound so infected with a tainted poison?"

The thread snapped between her fingers. "She gave everything she had."

"A noble sentiment but not one which satisfies the need for an explanation."

Elissa studied the frayed ends of the thread. Her gaze followed the strand to where it was still woven into the blanket and she scrapped at it with her nail in order to free some more of its length.

"Warden."

"I think she used her Spirit."

"A philosophical answer..."

"No," Elissa interrupted the dwarf as she heard the impatience colouring his words and looked up to meet his gaze. "I'm telling the truth. Wynne had a permanent connection to a benevolent spirit in the Fade. I think she channelled its power to remove the tainted poison."

"She flooded your body with healing sustained by a Fade spirit?" It was the first time that the elven Second had spoken and Argarth shot him a look which communicated even to an outsider such as Elissa that his input was unwelcome.

She let her focus fall back onto the thread and left the two Wardens to continue their silent conversation. It was the first time she had felt that the Wardens were surprised by anything she had said. It made some sense. Alistair would have focused on the events he had witnessed rather than relay second-hand information he had gleaned from the others.

Twirling the strand between her thumb and forefinger, she watched as the thread began to curl of its own accord. Perhaps she could make use of this momentary division between them without jeopardising too much of the truth.

"Yes, I believe so," she kept her tone even as she responded to Torih's question without looking up.

There were another few moments of silence and she could imagine another silent exchange between the two. She waited until she heard the clink of buckles on the elf's armour. Glancing up, she saw that he had pushed himself off from the wall and moved closer towards her.

That made some sense too. An elf would have a greater understanding of the peculiarities of the Fade and spirits than either of the dwarves. Elissa kept twiddling with the thread but she found she no longer needed so much of a distraction. There was something to this line of questioning which was important. Something she could possibly exploit.

"Tell us what you know of this Spirit and its connection with your mage, Warden."


	32. Fading Away

The warmth with which Alistair was greeted by the amiable mob that surrounded him and his guards was a pleasant if disconcerting experience. Relief that their initial response to him had not been a fluke banished the small worry which had taken residence at the back of his mind and he found himself to be less stilted than when he had been accompanied by Eamon.

But the lack of ceremony on which he stood helped to loosen the tongues around him and grumbles began to reach his ears with regards to the practicalities of living when the destruction caused by the Hore only made life so much more difficult. Not for the first time, Alistair wondered just how he was to fill this role when he knew so little.

His guards were evidently trained to be sensitive to changing moods because they began to close around him as they mistook his lack of confidence for apprehension.

"It's alright, it's alright," he countered hurriedly to them as the atmosphere through the crowd became noticeably charged as the people took the movement as a slur.

Turning back to the crowd, Alistair fell back on old habits. He muttered a small joke and the sound of laughter, forced or otherwise, spread throughout the multitude. Encouraged by the reaction, he found himself responding to the anonymous complaints in earnest and was surprised that he began to stand taller as he emphasised his words with gestures while his eyes flickered over the crowd in an attempt to include them all. Andraste help him, he had been paying attention to how Elissa did this after all.

His newly discovered confidence was swiftly dented however as one particular insistent voice towards the back of the crowd shouted out over what he was saying.

"Them elves and dwarves need to go! We can't support ourselves let alone them!"

Unwilling to be confrontational even when circumstances demanded it, Alistair was still to learn how to impose his will even if it was unpopular and a strained silence fell over the crowd as they waited for some form of reply. He had the sense that the majority of the crowd were keen to be persuaded by his argument but that they would not tolerate anything which opposed the facts as they saw it. He would have to acknowledge the difficulties yet stress the need of it, at least for the moment.

He took a deep breath. "Ferelden would have fallen to the darkspawn if it were not for the assistance from the Dalish and the dwarves. We need to show our gratitude towards them."

The earnestness with which his hands punctuated the words helped to convey the belief he had in what he said. There was a half hearted retort from the back but he had evidently proven himself enough for one day and a soft murmur of chorused voices emanated from the group as the protester was shouted down.

The vague sense of animosity ebbed from the crowd and Alistair ran a hand through his hair in an unconscious attempt to calm himself down. It was with no small amount of relief that he recognised the figures of Sten and Oghren on the periphery of the crowd. Occupied as he had been with speaking with the crowd, he had failed to notice that Zevran had slipped away to fetch their former companions.

The presence of the Qunari at their backs was a suitable prompt for the people to begin to disperse although some lingered to offer a last few well-wishes for the health of the Hero. He accepted the words gladly and even managed to force a habitual grin in response.

The trio drew ever closer him as the number of people surrounding him diminished until there were only the four companions and the guards left in the small part of the marketplace.

"Been wonderin' when you'd show your face, lad," Oghren blustered with a suspicious glare. "You owe me six soddin' barrels of ale."

Over the dwarf's head, Alistair saw both Sten and Zevran roll their eyes. Evidently this had been a point of some discussion over the last day or so.

"Six?" he tapped his forefinger against his chin as though trying to remember the exact terms of their arrangement. "That doesn't seem right, Oghren. I do remember promising one though."

"Pah," the dwarf bristled and crossed his arms across his chest. "Soddin' Wardens. Just as well I've already drunk two barrels."

"What? Where did you get two barrels?"

"Where else? The cellars."

A low and long groan escaped from Alistair as his head fell into his hands. "You've been in the palace _before_ me?"

"I knew you couldn't be trusted to keep your word, pike-twirler."

"Eamon is going to love this." He heard the whimper in his voice and forced himself to clear his throat in an effort to distance himself from the distinctly unmanly whine. Lifting his head, he saw that Oghren was grinning widely at him and he directed the accusation at Zevran, "Why didn't you bloody stop him?"

The elf simply shrugged. "It took our beautiful Warden and all her feminine wiles to control him. What did you expect that I do?"

"Fine, fine," Alistair rolled his eyes before focusing back on Oghren. "Then it's four barrels I owe you."

"Don't think so. I rustled those two barrels myself. Where they came from is of no concern to me."

Something twigged at the back of his mind and Alistair scrunched his eyes shut as he asked the question. "How many barrels are left in the cellars?"

Before Oghren could answer with a number that it seemed would inevitably challenge Alistair's patience, Sten gave a grunt. "How is the Warden?"

"She is recovering well," Alistair seized on the change of topic with some relief. He really had no intention of reneging on his wager but to find that Oghren had availed himself of what the Palace had to offer even while the Grey Wardens were challenging his claim rankled. Not that the dwarf would have been aware of the challenge but the effect remained the same.

Sten gave another small grunt that Alistair took to be a sign of satisfaction although whether it was at his response or the break in petty argument, he wasn't sure. "I have need to speak with her."

"Heh, reckon I wouldn't mind havin' a word with her myself," Oghren added.

Surprised that they were asking his permission, he cast a questioning look towards Zevran. "Did you tell them they couldn't visit?"

Before he could answer, Oghren interrupted with a snort.

"Nah, nothin' to do with the elf. Just didn't think she needed us all traipsing in and out, is all."

"Nice to see you can show some consideration," Alistair muttered before brushing aside the brewing retort he could already see on the dwarf's face. "She's speaking with the Orlesians at the moment but they should be finished by late afternoon. Come and see her this evening. I'll even find a barrel of ale for you, Oghren."

"On or off the books?" the dwarf raised an eyebrow. "I ain't sharing one of mine."

It was Zevran's turn to step in between man and dwarf. He cleared his throat and gestured towards the gates of the district. "Come, Alistair. I will show you where Wynne and Riordan now lie."

Sten's expression darkened and he fixed a disparaging look on Alistair. "All that remains are the charred remains. There is nothing to honour there."

"For you, perhaps," Alistair replied tersely. Past conversations with Sten had taught him that the Qunari was entirely motivated by his belief in the teachings of the Qun but he found it increasingly difficult to tolerate the unequivocal attitude which always accompanied that belief.

"You revere a shell and not the individual that once existed within."

"Then don't come."

"I do not intend to." The Qunari shrugged and turned away from the three companions. Walking away towards whatever duty he had appropriated for himself, he threw over his shoulder. "Send the elf to fetch me when the Warden is able to speak with me."

* * *

><p>Recounting the vague detail Wynne had revealed to her with regards the Spirit which sustained her, Elissa had made a point of not embellishing and instead allowed her audience to draw their own conclusions from her tale.<p>

Having heard the extent of her explanation, Torih seemed to be at a loss for words. Eventually through gritted teeth, he managed, "this is quite the revelation, Warden."

Argarth shifted in his chair and the resounding creak as the wood protested at the movement startled them both so that they looked to the Warden-Commander in an expectant silence.

"Is it possible that this account can be verified?"

"Zevran and Leliana were there when I was healed."

The dwarf shook his head. "You will forgive us if we do not place much faith in corroboration from your companions, Warden."

A tense silence fell over the room as the Wardens waited for an answer that she was unable to give. There was no way to prove her account but the act of having spoken truthfully meant that Elissa found she was able to keep her head held high without flinching.

Finally Korgik broke the silence with a grunt, his head still bowed over his sheets of vellum. "The Circle healer."

"What?" Torih demanded irritably from his subordinate.

The dwarf dipped his quill in the ink and made a point of teasing the excess from the nib before pressing it to the vellum as he amended some small detail. "The Circle healer who persuaded Theirin to allow the mages to examine her. She may have a greater understanding of this."

"No!" Elissa straightened her legs and pushed herself off the bed. Taking a few steps towards Argarth, Torih took her actions to be threatening and he moved to intercept her so that she was forced to speak over the elf's shoulder at the Warden-Commander. "You can't speak to the Circle mages about this!"

The dwarf rose to his feet and made a noise at the back of this throat which was clearly intended as a signal that Torih stand down. With a reluctant tread, the elf backed away so that he no longer blocked the space between the two.

"The Circle are still recovering from Uldred. You can't reveal that another of their High Enchanters was possessed. It would spark chaos. Please, Commander," she pleaded, "please. You can't speak to any of the mages or Templars about this."

Argarth studied her and she understood that he was attempting to evaluate to what extent he could trust what she said.

"This is too convenient, Commander," Torih intervened, obviously having come to the same conclusion as to the process his Commander was currently going through.

"Enough, Torih." The rebuke tripped from the dwarf's tongue with a familiarity that hinted towards its overuse. Argarth approached Elissa so that he stood only a few paces from her. "We have no interest in your Circle or Chantry."

"Just as you have no interest in politics," she countered.

The only effect the statement had on the dwarf was a brief narrowing of his eyes. "What do you know of our involvement in politics, Warden?"

"I know you are challenging Alistair's claim." The lack of reaction from either Argarth or Torih forced her to continue on without any direction as to which strand of the argument would be more persuasive. "Revealing this information will be just as destructive whether you intend it or not."

"I see." Argarth turned and moved towards Korgik with an outstretched hand indicating that he wished to reread the account as it had been recorded. Korgik surrendered the sheets with no small degree of agitation which his Commander pointedly ignored. Skimming the words, he took a few minutes to gather his thoughts before looking back towards Elissa. "You cannot expect us to take your word," he gave the sheets a small shake as he spoke, "without providing evidence to support it."

"Where is your mage?"

"We have none with us," Torih muttered.

Despite herself, she whirled round to face the elf and found some satisfaction in being able to subject him to her own disbelieving stare. "You travelled without any mages? Not even a healer?"

Torih squared up to her. "Yes. Healers have no place at the forefront of battle."

The response hung in the air between them while she absorbed the implication. Healers were a resource useful only to those who did not believe they faced an inevitable defeat. They had had no confidence in either her or Alistair and their skill as Grey Wardens. More than that, they had had no conviction in their own abilities.

"Then it seems you have to trust that what I have told you is true," she stated flatly.

"Simply because you do not wish us to talk with your Circle mages does not mean that we cannot," Torih sneered.

"Do it and I'll deny everything."

"Enough," Argarth interrupted before the argument could escalate fully. He returned the sheets of vellum to the safe keeping of Korgik and signalled that Torih was to return to his position near the door. "This gets us nowhere."

The elf made to protest but was chastened into silence by a well-timed growl from Argarth.

"Continue with your report, Warden," the dwarf focused once more on Elissa. "We will return to this detail in time."

* * *

><p>Having travelled through the numerous streets and districts of the city, Alistair had drawn varying levels of attentions from those they passed. But the trio and small group of guards were at last standing outside the city walls where Alistair had been confronted by the body of Shale which still lay where she had fallen after being besieged by the Horde.<p>

With a hesitant step, Alistair circled the remains before shooting a puzzled look at Zevran who stood on the opposite side. "Why have you left her here?"

"We did not know what else to do."

Alistair grimaced at the unwelcome practicality of the elf's statement. Addressing the top of Oghren's head which was all he could see across the mass of stone, he asked, "how do the dwarves dispose of fallen golems?"

He heard an incredulous snort from the dwarf. "Can't imagine it was much of an issue. Especially in the Deep Roads."

"Could another soul be caught within the stone?"

"Depends how badly damaged it is, I suppose," Oghren came into full view as Alistair moved to rejoin his friends. "Seems pretty bad if she didn't survive."

"True."

The heavy sigh which accompanied the acknowledgement was borne from distaste at the manner in which they were discussing the remains of a companion, as bad tempered as Shale had been. He could not simply leave what would come to be seen as only a random pile of rubble at the entrance of the city. She deserved to be honoured with the same reverence he imagined had already been paid to Riordan and Wynne.

Sensing that Alistair was at a loss, Zevran offered an observation. "Bhelen my appreciate the gesture of the body being returned to Orzammar."

Oghren rolled his eyes with a grunt but made no further comment. It seemed that the dwarf had absolved himself of all responsibility with regards to the fate of the golem.

"Whatever is decided will require moving her," Alistair said at last. "Have her put on a wagon or something and more her to a warehouse. And no, I don't know how you should do that."

"Perhaps the mages can assist," Zevran nodded. "Regardless, I will see that it is done."

A surge of sentimentality for the caustic lump of stone pushed its way through the practicalities Alistair was trying to negotiate. "Make sure it's today. She would hate to be left where the birds can rest on her."

The elf nodded and took the order to be the last word on the matter. He moved past the remains and headed along the base of the city walls to the point where they stood at a distinct angle to the main road leading from the city. Numerous pyres which still smouldered were constructed in neat lines some distance from the walls but it seemed that the vast number had at least served a purpose in that there appeared to be no more bodies to be added.

Zevran continued to a spot which was visible from the road but set back from it to prevent careless feet treading across what was intended as a memorial rather than simply a burial site. To Alistair's surprise, two small cairns marked the exact place although the still blackened ground indicated that a pyre had been allowed to burn out before the stones had been collected. To mark graves in this way seemed very much against what he had come to expect from either Zevran or Oghren but inappropriate and caustic as both of them could be, they each understood the importance of honouring those who held great importance even if it was in a manner which held no significance to them.

Similarly to the marketplace, the guards sensed the mood of their King and dropped back a few steps to allow him as much privacy as could be permitted without dereliction of duty. This time he made no effort to correct them.

Zevran spoke first, his voice quiet but otherwise unaffected by his surroundings. "There are a handful of elemental mages from the Circle. The Templars agreed to them helping the fires burn hot enough so that the cairns could be constructed as quickly as possible."

Alistair nodded distractedly. He found that he was at peace with Riordan's passing as much as he might wish that it had been avoidable. Wynne, however, was more difficult.

He had always had an easy relationship with Wynne, at least until Elissa had left. He could believe that the mage had not spoken with any malice during their journey to and from Redcliffe but it seemed as though each remark she had made had been yet another judgement. And he regretted that it was those harsh words they had had for each other which now tinged his memory of her. She deserved more than that.

His hand reached out and brushed across one of the rocks as though touching it was an equivalent to communicating directly with her. "My weakness, was she."

The words came from nowhere and he flinched as he heard the hint of spite which coloured the tone. Whether he expected the sky to crack or the wind to howl in protest at the callousness which seeped through, he was unsure but the indifferent silence that followed was in itself difficult to bear.

He hastily added a murmured "thank you" in an attempt to negate the previous sentiment. The world around him remained unmoved but he felt a calm descend over him. He would find the words eventually. And when he did then he would come back. Until then, the cairns would remain as a reminder of his overdue duty.

With a deliberate movement, Alistair turned his back on the spot and cleared his throat.

"Show me where the Dalish are staying."

* * *

><p>Neither the Commander nor his Second had heard cause to interrupt her as she completed her report of the events which had followed after her healing and she had come to an abrupt halt after recounting the vague sensations she could recall from the final blow.<p>

"And this is all?" Argarth pressed.

From her reclaimed position on the bed, Elissa nodded. "After that I woke up here, in this room. With Alistair. And that's it."

"I see," the dwarven Warden-Commander sighed. "There is much to this which I need to reflect on, Warden."

"I can understand that."

"Then you will permit us to speak with you further tomorrow?"

"Of course."

With a small gesture towards Korgik, Argarth indicated that the dwarf should tidy away his materials. Torih straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall and while a scowl had formed across his face, he made no attempt to argue with the decision of his Commander.

Elissa remained where she sat with her arms circled around her knees which she had drawn up against her chest. Her head dropped so that it rested against her knees and she made no effort to engage the Wardens in further conversation and the few minutes it took for Korgik to adequately dry the ink on the most recent piece of vellum passed in a terse silence.

It surprised her that Argarth had admitted so freely to his wish to take time to absorb more fully the extent of what she had revealed. Yet she knew better than to take the dwarf for a fool. Perhaps the request for a postponement was evidence of her success in diverting their focus from the truth.

She knew what they were looking for; an explanation for her survival. And the implication that she retained some form of lingering connection to either the Spirit or even the Fade itself was a welcome alternative to the product of the ritual performed with Morrigan. Yet while such an event provided an answer for the Grey Wardens, it prompted more questions in her own mind. Dark questions that she had not considered and now found were swirling through her thoughts.

Somehow Wynne had summoned the healing properties of the Spirit into her broken body and in doing so had sacrificed herself. That much she knew was true. But what other truths might she have unwittingly chanced upon by focusing the Warden's attention on the actions of the mage?

The haze of her thoughts began to form into something more frighteningly cohesive and her arms loosened around her knees so that her hand could massage the point where the grinding pain of the fracture had been.

Raising her head, she found that Torih had focused on the small movement of her fingers and was watching her through narrowed eyes.

"An old injury," she offered in curt explanation.

Hearing the tone of her voice and anticipating another clash of words between the pair, Argarth gestured to Torih that he was to leave before assisting Korgik by accepting the now rolled sheets of vellum while the scholar gathered up his writing tools.

"I will send for you when I am ready to talk further," Argarth remarked as Korgik passed behind him en-route to the now open doorway.

Elissa had no wish to reveal her own weaknesses even if Argarth had the confidence to accept his and she made no reference to the difficulty such a summons would cause. Instead she only offered another nod.

"Until then, Warden."

With that, she was left on her own. Though she could not help but wonder just how alone she truly was. Her fingers, which had stilled under Torih's scrutiny, moved again as she made a futile attempt to ascertain the full extent of healing which her leg had undergone.

The need for the healing on the rooftop of Fort Drakon suggested that there was nothing untoward within her and that the lingering properties of Wynne's spell were not sufficient to heal of its own accord. Surrounded as she had been by mages and Templars with her body once again flooded with healing magic, she would have expected that any remnants of the Spirit or connection to the Fade would have been discovered.

And yet.

Simply because her physical injuries had required further attention did not mean that there were not deeper repercussions from Wynne's actions. What proof did she have that it had been Morrigan's ritual over Wynne's healing which had protected her in the end? She did not doubt Morrigan but neither could she shake the gnawing doubt that perhaps it had been the Spirit who had shielded her soul and forced the dark evil from her body.

The doubt revealed a darker truth which existed behind the possibility and she winced as her own fingers dug into the flesh of her leg. The thought that the Spirit had in some way protected her could not account for the defeat of the Archdemon. Magic could not penetrate walls and Morrigan had lain deep with the Fort. How was it that the tainted soul of the demon had not sought out a suitable host among any of the darkspawn who remained throughout the city?

That the demon had not spawned again seemed evidence that it had not left her body but it offered no reassurance that it had in fact been destroyed. Yet Riordan had insisted that two souls could not occupy the same body. Was a Spirit a soul though? The existence of Wynne, sustained by but independent of the Spirit, would seem to suggest that it was not. At least, she didn't think so.

But she was not a mage and she had little understanding of these things. If the Spirit was not a soul but the demon's soul had not been driven from her than had the Spirit somehow consumed the tainted evil and she was now some form of abomination? Her skills as a rogue suggested some affinity with magic albeit not enough to warrant concern from the Chantry but perhaps it was enough to permit a demon to exist within her.

And surely it was inevitable that the Spirit would be corrupted by the tainted essence of the demon. More than that, she had suffered from so many dark thoughts since Wynne had revived her. Did her thoughts, coupled with the intention of the demon, affect the Spirit? Was that what a Fade demon was? A corrupted spirit which had been irreversibly contaminated by the weak minds of those who walked through the Fade?

A chill crept into her heart and chased the warmth from her body. She had witnessed so much and yet the fear with which the Chantry regarded mages proved itself dominant in her mind. If she was now possessed by some corrupted Spirit, something now akin to a Fade demon, then how certain could she be that this was not some fabrication of reality?

In a desperate attempt to make sense of the questions overwhelming her, she found that her mind flew to the only explanation which could account for all the contrasting possibilities.

She was trapped in the Fade.

A whimper escaped from between her clenched teeth. How else to explain all that had happened: her rescue, her recovery, her victory? Something had to be watching over her and guiding the world around her. Something which took pleasure in watching her suffering while it orchestrated the events of her life.

Her diminishing capacity for rationality made one last defence against the assertion and she found herself stumbling to her feet. She lurched towards the door and fumbled at the latch. Desperation to find someone, anyone, who could help her regain her composure helped to obscure the fear she had previously felt at the thought of leaving her room.

Fumbling her way down the empty corridor, the act of moving meant that she was able to focus on the number of steps it would take to reach the sanctuary offered in Leliana's company rather than the downward spiralling thoughts that were crowding into her head. Reaching the wooden door, she fell against it while scrambling at the handle in an attempt to open it. Miraculously the two actions collided together and as the door swung open, she was forced to catch herself against the inner wall before she fell to the floor.

"Elissa!"

Leliana let out a stifled shriek at the entrance but before the young Warden could attempt to gather herself to answer, Liahn was already at her side.

"Come," the mage soothed as she supported the woman's weight. "Come sit."

Distracted from her panic by the physical touch from the mage, Elissa allowed herself to be guided towards the bed. Leliana had already shuffled as far over as was possible and as Liahn manoeuvred Elissa down, the Bard wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulders.

"What has happened, dear one?"


	33. Best Laid Plans

_Foolishness._

It was foolishness to expect that the fact would change simply because he wished it. Yet he found each time he thought on it that a small part of him wondered whether maybe, just maybe, wishing was enough. If he wished often enough, fervently enough, desperately enough then perhaps it would change and he would be pleasantly surprised.

The flicker of hope was snuffed out once more as Eamon stubbed his toe against the uneven flagstone in the centre of his study.

A knot of rage tightened in his stomach as he was forced to adjust his balance for the small stumble which followed. He had tried changing the length of his stride. He had tried changing the direction he paced in. He had tried to ensure that his foot fell on either side of the flagstone. With each new approach, there had been a brief moment where he believed he had found an answer to the audacity with continued to confront him. But his bruised toe spoke to the true success of each of those measures.

It was foolish to allow his temper to be riled by such a thing. Still he could not help but wonder what damned stonemason had permitted such a flawed example of his craft to be placed so directly in the middle of a room. It was evident that it was unfit for purpose and should have been cast aside in favour of another.

Eamon forced himself to take a breath as his pacing brought him within a few inches of the bookcase leaning against the far wall. He turned but resisted the urge to keep moving and instead drew his arms across his chest and closed his eyes.

Perhaps there were circumstances beyond the control of the stonemason. The craftsman would have been under pressure to ensure that the order was fulfilled. He would have trusted to others to ensure that the blemished stone was laid in an appropriate location. Somewhere nonintrusive like near the wall or behind the door and then, surrounded by more perfect examples as it would have been, it would not have been unfair of the stonemason to assume that it would be overlooked.

Except he could not overlook it because it was in the _centre _of his blasted study.

Eamon allowed his chin to fall against his chest with a groan. He began to consider whether it would be possible to move the desk forward so that the flagstone was obscured. Hidden away from sight, he could perhaps forget that the floor of his study was a distorted failure of flawed workmanship.

Or perhaps he could address the real issue.

_Foolishness._

He should not have lost his temper with Alistair. Too much depended on the younger man's trust in him and he could ill-afford to lose that trust over such an insignificant issue. He could not pinpoint the cause of his fury especially when he had known that Alistair had not slept in the room set aside from him.

Eamon raised his head and rubbed at his temples with a weary sigh.

The boy did not even have the guile to disturb the bedding in an effort to obscure the truth. And such was the fantasy that Ferelden had constructed around its two young Grey Wardens... no, around its _King_ and Grey Warden... that the servants talked freely of the great love affair which continued between them.

It was not that he expected their infatuation with one another to have ended so simply. He was not so naive as to believe that one conversation alone would have been sufficient to convince Alistair to break off the betrothal. What he had expected however was a greater respect of his opinion. Perhaps that was what had offended him so.

Eamon walked to his desk and sank down in the chair. Even as his thoughts were distracted by the problems bound up in Alistair and his youthful passion, he was gratified to discover that the insulting flagstone had disappeared from his view.

What was certain was that the boy was besotted and it would only make their inevitable separation from one another more difficult. Eamon had no doubt that the Orlesians would realise the worth of the youngest Cousland. Her father would have tolerated nothing but the best from his children and that was even before Eamon took into account the additional qualities implicit in a Grey Warden. No, the Hero of Ferelden was aptly named and prudently valued.

Not that such an argument was helpful to his current predicament. Yet for all her abilities and qualities and Maker knew what else, she remained just one woman. And what was one woman to a man who had the choice of the best Ferelden could offer him?

"Eamon?"

But sometimes one woman could be everything.

"Isolde."

She took a few cautious steps into the room, her drifting gaze around the room reassuring her that he was indeed alone. "I expected you to join me for midday meal, my dear."

"I have had business to attend to," his hand gestured towards some stray papers.

"You are looking poorly again," she ventured, "perhaps you should rest."

"It is nothing," he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet in an effort to convince her by the movement alone that he remained resolute in his ability to serve King and country.

Isolde shook her head with a worried frown, nearing the desk. "It is clear there is something preying on your mind, Eamon."

He sighed and he felt as his shoulders hunched. "I spoke rashly with Alistair earlier."

"It does not seem to have affected his mood. He is in the city speaking with people according to the gossip."

Eamon started as panic surged through him. "On his own?"

"No, with some guards and the Antivan elf." Emboldened by the privacy offered in his study, Isolde made no effort to contain the disdain that came so easily to her tone when she referred to those she considered unworthy of her attention.

"Perhaps my words did some good," he mused to himself, turning over the new information in his head.

"Then hopefully he will hold you no malice."

Isolde offered him a smile of encouragement and he found that the edges of his mouth began to upturn in response. His wife had her flaws but Isolde had forever been a source of comfort and support to him. His devotion to her had matured into a steady beat but he remembered the impetuousness and rashness that she had prompted in him as a young man and he _knew_.

He _knew _Alistair could not be trusted. He could not be trusted to see beyond his own desire or the betr... _necessity_ of the compromise Eamon had orchestrated.

The revelation should have been shocking but Eamon found that a sense of calm descended over him. Wishes were unnecessary when the immediate future was so clear to see. Alistair was a flawed part of a larger whole but his presence remained imperative. All that remained was to limit the impact of the consequences.

Actions began to crystallise in his head and foremost among them was Anora. She had to be executed before Alistair discovered the agreement with the Grey Wardens. Otherwise it was possible that Alistair could be convinced that she offered an alternative that simply did not exist. He would draft her execution order this afternoon.

That left only one especially pressing matter. Blinking, he realised he had dropped his gaze and was staring once more at the uneven flagstone. More than that, Isolde stood to one side of it. When she had approached the desk, she had side-stepped it without so much as a hesitation. She was familiar with both it and the potential hazard it presented.

She had side-stepped. He would stand aside.

Too much had been risked by his family for the Arling of Redcliffe and he was damned if he would allow it to be stripped from him in a fit of petulant rage. But for him to suggest the transfer of power to Teagan would arouse suspicion. No, the seed had to be sown by another.

"Isolde," he made a point of keeping his eyes cast down on the desk, "I fear this is becoming too much for me."

There was a silence and he found himself wondering if she had heard him but then came the response he had hoped for.

"What do you mean, my dear?"

* * *

><p>The Dalish had set up a small camp a little way beyond the city walls. Sentinels kept a close watch over the encampment and had sent word to the Keeper at first sight of the group of humans. By the time Alistair reached the entrance, Lanaya was already there to greet him in person.<p>

"Warden," she leant forward with arms crossed in front of her and bowed her head. She straightened and dropped her arms to her side with a faint smile. "Or is it King?"

"Alistair would do," he responded sheepishly.

The smile became more pronounced and her posture became more relaxed. "I understand the pressure you are under, Alistair. I do not wish to make this transition more difficult for you."

"Do you think you could spread the word?"

Lanaya only shook her head before her smile faded into a more serious expression. "What do you wish of the Dalish?"

"I just wanted to see how your clan was after the battle."

"Our sorrows are no more important than any other," the Keeper took a half step backwards and held out her arm towards the large camp fire a little way behind her in invitation. Alistair made to step forward but the surge of tension which rifted between his guards and the elven sentinels stopped him in his tracks.

He looked to Lanaya but she offered no suggestion and he had the disconcerting feeling that he was being tested. He had no concerns for his safety among the Dalish but with Eamon's words still fresh at the back of his mind, he was reluctant to dismiss the guards as easily as he might have done only the day before.

"May my men join us?"

Lanaya tensed and Alistair knew he had made a mistake.

"What about Zevran and Oghren?" he backtracked hurriedly.

"The companions of the Hero are always welcome," came the terse reply.

Ignoring the demotion she had given him, Alistair turned to the guards and signalled that they remain at the outskirts of the camp. The tension multiplied among the men at the command but none objected outright.

As Alistair fell into step with Lanaya who had begun to walk towards the fire, Zevran and Oghren followed a few paces behind in silent acquiescence. The sentinels remained at the edges of the camp where they could keep watch over the human guards.

He felt the tingling sensation on the side of his face as Lanaya eyed him in the manner of someone evaluating whether she had made a very large mistake. "Our presence here is a strain on the resources of your city."

Opting for honesty over tact, Alistair nodded. "Yes."

The muffled snort succinctly conveyed that it was the wrong option and it was with a sinking feeling that he recognised the signs of disappointment. Worse still, her disappointment was entirely in him.

"Then we would wish to be granted leave to return to our home."

He had no real power as either Grey Warden or King to deny the request and he was puzzled as to why Lanaya had insisted on asking him. His next question tripped from his tongue as surely the only natural response. "Are you ready to leave?"

The surprise which streaked across her face erased a small portion of the disappointment. A small flutter of satisfaction warmed him as he realised that he had somehow found a right answer amongst all the wrong ones.

"With some provisions, yes."

"I'll see what can be done then."

The Keeper came to an abrupt halt and spun to face Alistair. He stumbled to a less than dignified stop in front of her while Zevran and Oghren, having kept a few paces behind, both succeeded in coming to a more natural standstill.

Surrounded as he had been by women who were not backward about coming forward, Alistair recognised the telltale signs of a woman weighing up whether to speak her mind. He was yet to encounter one who, having embarked on the process, had ever decided against it and he braced himself accordingly for the onslaught that was sure to follow.

"It has been some time since the Dalish have found a friend in the humans."

Understanding that this was simply a prelude and that his response would temper the entire direction of the conversation, Alistair took his time in finding what he hoped would be an appropriate acknowledgement. Finally he settled on, "I hope to prove a worthy friend."

Her face cleared and the elven woman rewarded him with a genuine smile. "As do I, Alistair. Friendship grows with time and patience. I hope we will have both for one another."

Relief flooded through him and he found that he was grinning. Hastily, he rearranged his features into an expression that was more refined and simply nodded towards her.

"Perhaps once your coronation has passed then we may arrange further talks between us," she began to move towards the camp fire once more.

Alistair chose not to focus on the question as to whether he was to have a coronation at all and instead turned his attention to practicalities. "You would be welcome to attend."

"Such an invitation does not come without complications," Lanaya's tone hardened a fraction but she seemed to accept that he had not intended any slight. "However if we remain nearby then we will gladly recognise your sovereignty over the humans."

She turned her attention to a small group gathered around a cooking pot resting on some hot embers near the fire. Her language morphed into the fluid language of her people as she communicated her requests. One of the group ran off in the direction of a tent while the others busied themselves with setting out bowls and ladling out the contents of the pot.

"If you have time then we would welcome all three of you to eat with us," Lanaya turned back to him with a mischievous glint in her eye. "However I am certain that if you remain then Sarel will wish to have further details of your story."

"Isn't talking about my great feats a prerequisite for a King?" he grinned.

"Keeper," Zevran stepped forward and bowed to her before addressing Alistair directly. "If I may, I will take my leave to speak with the Templars about Shale."

Alistair nodded. "Come and find me later."

Zevran acknowledged the request before spinning on heel and heading back in the direction they had come. Both Lanaya and Alistair looked to Oghren in silent question.

The dwarf grunted and jerked a thumb at Alistair while addressing the elven woman. "If it's a story you're wantin' then this pike-twirler's no good to you. He'll take all the glory for himself. Me on the other hand, I'll tell you exactly what happened."

Lanaya looked amused and gestured that Oghren should take his place beside the fire. As the dwarf made his way to claim a bowl of stew, she threw a glance towards Alistair.

He shrugged with a resigned acceptance. "And when he's done, I'll tell you what actually happened."

* * *

><p>"Here."<p>

A small wooden cup was pushed into Elissa's hands. The rough grain of the wood had long since been worn down by the countless fingers which had wrapped around it before her and she experienced a brief moment of comforting connection with those nameless others. Whether they had seized on the object in haste, happiness or hope, she was linked to them all through the small object in her hands.

Such a tiny inconspicuous detail and yet it offered an instant of respite from the stifling panic. Surely no demon would pay attention to such a small but complex detail. A demon could not understand the solace that could be taken from kinship with another being simply through one unremarkable object. Since a demon existed outside of conventional time and space then it would not appreciate the sense of continuation that was forged in holding an object which defied the rules of mortality to which she was bound.

But it did not have to so long as she did. That tiny inconspicuous detail, one that she knew she would have overlooked in any other circumstance, was as treacherous as her own mind. It offered promise where there was none.

A trickle of wetness ran down the back of her hand and she discovered that her hands had begun to shake and it had allowed some to swill over the edge. She fought to still the tremble and the water ceased to reach the top of the cup although the surface continued to be disturbed by the tremors. Staring at the water, she caught the distorted reflection of a face looking back at her that she did not recognise.

The cup slipped from her grasp and crashed to the ground. The wet slap of water as it hit the flagstones before spreading out was accompanied by the musical clatter of the cup as it skidded across the floor.

"What are you so frightened of, dear one?" The arm resting across her shoulders tightened in a protective gesture.

Elissa made no effort to acknowledge either question or touch and instead focused on the small puddle which now spread at her feet, making sure to keep the angle so that she was unable to see anything but the reflection of the ceiling. On the periphery of her vision, she caught a movement and her head jerked up to see Liahn rifling over the contents of her table in search of a cloth.

"Leave it."

She heard the words but did not recognise the monotone they were spoken in.

"There is no sense in allowing..." Liahn spoke over her shoulder but was interrupted again by that voice.

"It doesn't matter. None of this matters."

It was her. It was her voice.

Liahn swivelled on the spot and focused on the two women sitting on the bed. There was a cloth in the mage's hands but she made no attempt to move towards the spill.

"Of course it matters," Leliana murmured in her ear.

The Bard spoke with a harmony of various chords blended into a perfect cadence and which only served to emphasise all that was wrong with her own. Timbre, rhythm, modulation; it was all wrong.

Elissa tore her gaze from Liahn and allowed her head to turn so that she was almost nose to nose with Leliana. The faint scent of the herbal balm that was smoothed onto the woman's skin was more noticeable than she could remember it being and she belatedly realised that there was no bandage covering the charred skin of her cheek.

"No, it doesn't."

"Tell us why that is, Warden." Liahn took a step towards the bottom of the bed.

She forced herself to look back at the mage. She had been searching for someone who could help her make sense of the fear that was corrupting her rationality. But to find that someone who could alleviate her distress only a matter of strides from her room was yet one more coincidence. It would not surprise her to discover that Liahn had some knowledge of her entrapment. Perhaps Liahn was the demon itself; overseeing her delusion while maintaining a discrete distance.

"Let us help you," Leliana coaxed.

"You can't."

"Have faith in us, dear one."

A strangled laugh escaped from her and she pulled away from the Bard. Finding her feet, she ignored the coldness of the water against her soles and staggered away from the bed leaving a faint trail of footprints which faded into barely noticeable smudges within a few steps.

She came to rest against the far wall and leant her forehead against the cool stone as she closed her eyes. "What use is faith in the Fade?"

"An odd question for one without magic in their blood to ask, Warden."

"Is it?"

A heavy sigh greeted the question and she heard the rustle of robes. Elissa whirled round but Liahn had only moved to perch on the base of the bed. Ignoring the silent question Leliana attempted to communicate through the tilt of her head, Liahn focused her attention solely on Elissa.

"Warden," she smoothed the cloth out on her lap while she spoke, "why would you be concerned about the Fade?"

"It seems you already have an answer."

"Yes but I do not know why you would have come to such a conclusion."

"Prove that I am not." It was intended as a defiant challenge but there was a desperation behind the words which served to lift the flat drone of her voice into a trill.

Even as Liahn kept her stare trained on Elissa, she folded her hands before resting them neatly in the centre of the cloth on her lap. "I cannot do that, Warden."

"Please," the plea was heaved from somewhere deep within and pushed across her lips with some of the last shreds of sanity she had.

A flash of helplessness contorted Liahn's face. "Elissa, there is much I could both do and say to prove that you are not trapped in the Fade. It is whether you would allow yourself to be convinced which is the problem."

"That's a cheap answer," she snapped.

"Very well," the mage looked down to her hands and paused to gather her thoughts. "If you were trapped in the Fade then you would have no awareness of the event. It would not even enter your consciousness to consider the possibility and," the mage anticipated the retort on the tip of Elissa's tongue, "if somehow it did then you would not be able to entertain it with as much conviction as you are demonstrating now."

"I became aware when we were in the Tower."

"You could argue that the events at the Tower are a product of your delusion." Hearing the outraged hiss that escaped from Leliana, the mage turned to her with a small shake of her head. "If I did not acknowledge the possibility then she would believe I was attempting to mislead her." Liahn looked back to Elissa and she leant forward a little as if to emphasise her earnestness. "However the truth is that the demon was sustaining the desires of you and your companions as well as countless others. It was not as powerful as it thought."

"No." She found that she had backed against the wall and was now pressing herself against it. "That's too simple."

"Dear one, why do you believe that you have been trapped in the Fade?" Leliana intervened before Liahn could respond.

A dry tongue ran across her bottom lip and her eyes darted between Leliana and the mage. She was unsure why she hesitated but defending Wynne's secret meant more. More what, she was unsure. But whether it was simply an ingrained habit or proof that a small part of her was persuaded by Liahn's argument, she knew she could not let herself simply blurt it out. At least not just yet.

The concerned frown on Leliana's face smoothed into an impenetrable blankness as she reached the conclusion which had prompted the sudden reticence from Elissa. Ignoring the fact that Elissa had not answered, she turned to Liahn.

"A demon thrives on the vices of its host, yes?"

"A simplistic way of looking at it but yes."

"Then is it possible for a demon to replicate something other than what the host either knows or desires?"

Liahn chewed on the corner of her lip as she considered the question but eventually nodded slowly. "It is not impossible although it would seem impractical not to adhere to what already exists in the mind of the person."

Satisfied by the answer, Leliana focused once more on Elissa. "I cannot give you faith, dear one but you must see that you are loved. Either this is a result of your desires or it is a manifestation of what already exists."

"I don't understand."

"Such a simple desire to be loved does not speak well for this reality you believe you are separated from. Why would you wish to return to it?"

Elissa tensed but the Bard carried on without stopping.

"If however this is a delusion based on what already exists then you know that your friends would do anything to bring you back to us. What is the harm in existing here until that time?"

Unsure whether the implausibility of either argument revealed their weaknesses or ingenuity, Elissa blinked. Faintly, she managed to ask, "can you hear yourself, Leliana?"

"Or you can accept that you are safe and where you should be," the blank expression melted into a wan smile and her voice softened. "You have much to bear, dear one but you must stop looking for demons where there are none."

Before Elissa had a chance to respond, Liahn peeled the cloth from her lap and rose to her feet. She took a small step around the puddle towards Elissa and held out the small square of linen to her.

"Come now, Warden. Enchanter Wynne would not approve of such a mess."

* * *

><p>Credit where it was due, Oghren could spin a tale. It was interesting to hear the journey from the perspective of another and Alistair had found himself enthralled by the dwarf's narrative though he had objected to some of the more colourful descriptions. Oghren had only grumbled to himself and passed over the offending detail without offering any revision. Still, Sarel had seemed satisfied with the account and with time wearing on, Alistair had gladly taken his leave from the company of the elves.<p>

He had intended to return to Eamon's estate but the walk back to the city gates and through the various districts granted Oghren more than enough time to convince him that to speak with the Dalish but not the dwarves would be taken as an irreparable insult. Conceding that there was some truth to the argument, Alistair had allowed Oghren to persuade him to visit the small regiment of dwarves who had appeared to have taken up residence of the Gnawed Noble. Nothing like embracing a stereotype.

However it became clear that whatever the opinion of the citizens of the city, the dwarves were singlehandedly ensuring the economic stability of at least the city brewers and his entrance into the tavern was greeted with a mixture of roars and pounding of tankards on the tables. Not wishing to enquire whether they were acknowledging him, his title or this was a generic welcome extended to any patron capable of providing a tab for their drinks, Alistair only grinned.

The handful of higher ranking warriors towards the back of the tavern rose and gestured that both he and Oghren should join them. Settling down, he found a tankard unceremoniously pushed into his hands.

"Your health, Warden," came the gruff chorus as they raised their tankards in his direction.

"And yours," he returned. Mindful of the disapproval that would no doubt greet his drunken return to the estate, he only swallowed a mouthful of the ale. It had taken a while but he had eventually accepted that he would never drink even one dwarf under a table, taint or not taint. He had no wish to get into a competition with an entire regiment. Not that it wouldn't be fun to try.

Somewhere in the midst of drinking and bawdy talk which followed, he was able to discover that the dwarves intended to leave within a matter of days and were simply waiting for their armour and weapons to be repaired by their two blacksmiths. At the mention of their names, two dwarves hollered in the direction of the table and Alistair wondered just how adequate those repairs would be. Sensing an opportunity to placate some of the city blacksmiths, he offered their services but was greeted with guffaws. He adopted the route of discretion and let the offer slide, content to accept the word of the dwarves instead. For all the corruption of their politics, and who was he to comment on politics, and the harsh reality of their caste system, the rough and ready attitude of the dwarves was a welcome experience that he found he genuinely enjoyed being immersed in.

However when the sixth tankard of ale was forced into his vicinity, he decided that discretion was the better part of valour and announced his retreat. Not entirely unexpectedly, various comments questioning both his parentage and masculinity abounded but he was permitted to leave without much further humiliation. He must have earned a greater amount of respect than he had realised.

Escaping into the street and deprived of the company of Oghren, who had hastily reclaimed his abandoned ale, Alistair wandered back towards the estate. He had intended to walk purposefully but apparently fresh air and six ales were enough to give him a slight stagger that he was doing his damnedest to hide and his guards were doing their damnedest to ignore. Andraste save him, tipsy on the job. He wondered whether he could persuade Eamon that it was a clever political manoeuvre.

Passing through the gates of Eamon's estate, he dismissed the guards to their other duties and trudged up the stairs to the main doors. The thought that he now had to go and find Eamon in order to work out what he had done to offend the man helped to sober him up. But as he headed through the main hall, he was greeted by the sight of Isolde.

Swallowing the groan that leapt to his throat, he bowed towards the woman and offered a cautious greeting. "My Lady."

She dropped a perfect curtsy in front of him and he had to resist the urge to drag her up by the arm. "Your Majesty."

The brief consideration that he request she call him by his name was quashed by a small yet very unattractive part of him which enjoyed the reversal in fortune between them. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Eamon confided in me that he spoke out of turn with you this morning."

"That's one way of putting it."

"Please, Alistair..." His pettiness didn't quite extend to correcting her slip but only because she seemed genuine in expressing her defence of Eamon. "...he will not admit it but he is still suffering from what happened at Redcliffe." Alistair stiffened as he waited for the wave of accusations which he expected to follow but Isolde may no further reference to the fate of her young son. "Eamon knows he was wrong to speak in the way he did. Please, do not judge him."

"I haven't judged him," he protested but thought better of adding the observation that the man had left no time in which to judge him.

"Then I hope you may consider my request."

She was wringing in her hands as part of her agitation and he regressed to the young boy who always seemed to be on the wrong side of that agitation. Defensively he snapped, "what do you want?"

"Allow Teagan to become Arl of Redcliffe."

"What?" Startled by the request, Alistair could only stammer. "B... but... that has nothing to do with me."

"It is in your power to do so," she argued earnestly. "Eamon will not willingly admit to me that he is unwell but I can see the effect it is having on him. He will respect your decision. Besides you will wish to have an advisor at court who is not distracted by his own concerns. Who better than Eamon?"

"Well, I know." It was an intriguing feeling to find that he agreed with something Isolde said but he was struggling to keep pace with the turn of events. He studied the woman in an attempt to gain a greater handle on her motivation. "What are your wishes, Lady Isolde? If Teagan becomes Arl then you will lose your title of Arlessa."

"I have already lost my son," this time her voice was tinged by a bitterness which cut through him as though it were his own loss. "I do not wish to lose my husband."

"Alright," he conceded. "But I'm not sure that I can insist on anything until after my coronation."

"But you will speak with Eamon?"

"Yes."

The woman dipped at him again. "Thank you, your Majesty. He is in his study."

"I suppose now is as good a time as any," Alistair acknowledged with no small amount of reluctance. "Do you know if the Warden's are still speaking with the Elissa?"

"She was not in her room when the servants took her some food. I think she is with the Bard."

"Right." If she was with Leliana then he could trust that she was settled for the moment. He would speak with Eamon as quickly as possible and then visit both of them.

Alistair dodged around Isolde but a thought came to him and he turned back to the woman. "Would it be possible to have a barrel of ale brought up to one of the small reception rooms for this evening?"

"Of course," Isolde nodded. "Would you like some food prepared also?"

"I suppose so if there's spare going. Thank you, Isolde." With that he took his leave from her and headed towards the study with the tread of a man walking to the gallows. How in the Maker's name was he supposed to broach the question of Eamon's capacity for governing when his own was under such scrutiny?


	34. A Problem Shared

The Warden-Commander paced the room in the hope that the basic repetitive movement might help to shake loose some of the questions that had massed in his head. Torih was leaning against the wall, his head rolling from side to side as he watched his Commander. Each length the dwarf paced prompted an ever more audible sigh until Argarth was forced to acknowledge his Second's presence.

"Thoughts, Torih?"

"About?"

The dwarf shot his Second a thinly veiled look. His patience often correlated with the contents of his hip flask and that particular item had been roughly discarded upon the discovery that it was empty. "The part played by the healer."

"You are asking whether I believe that the tainted soul of the demon passed into the Fade?"

Ancestors help him, what he would not give for good dwarven ale. Earthy and full-bodied.

"I am asking whether you think it is a possibility," the dwarf corrected.

"Of the four who have previously defeated an Archdemon, I do not recall that any possessed the skills of a healer or were healed so extensively immediately prior to the final blow. It may be that this situation is one that has simply not been encountered before."

"But?"

"I am not certain of this. The knowledge of the Circle mages would be invaluable."

Argarth grunted and shook his head. The insistence from Torih towards consulting the mages had swiftly become the main contributory factor towards his dwindling reserves of patience. As a result it was with no small amount of derision that he was forced to approach the carafe of wine which had accompanied the tray of food. Sniffing it, the dwarf's face contorted into one of disgust but anticipating the elf's response to his next comment, he decided that wine was better than nothing and poured a generous amount into the cup.

"I have enough to contend with. I have no intention of involving myself in the troubles of the mages."

Torih cursed beneath his breath. "You cannot suggest that we believe her account without verification?"

"You have been unable to find another explanation."

"But that does not mean that this explanation is valid!" Torih pushed himself off the wall as he became caught up in his argument. "Human theology would seem to suggest that such a solution is problematic. The tainted soul could not be returned to the Fade without some repercussion."

Argarth sucked the wine through his teeth before swallowing the liquid with a hiss. The amusement that he had provoked such a reaction from his Second helped to sweeten the dryness of the wine. "How much faith do you place in human theology, Torih?"

"We are dealing with the survival of a Grey Warden who has defeated an Archdemon. We do not have the luxury of dismissing such things, Commander."

"Enough, Torih," Argarth signalled that he was not interested in lectures. "I have no intention of not following this through however we are limited in what we can achieve at the moment."

"But whatever occurred means that Cousland is of value to us."

"Exactly."

The elf visibly settled within himself as he followed his Commander's logic. "Then it would appear we are willing to discuss with the Arl further."

It was the turn of Argarth to sigh. _Sodding politics. _"So it would seem."

* * *

><p>It had taken a few minutes to summon the energy to step forward but eventually Elissa had accepted the small scrap of linen held out to her and had crouched down to mop up the spilled cupful of water. Not because she had been persuaded it mattered and not because she had been convinced that her fears were unfounded but because the simple spoken sound of Wynne's name prompted the reaction.<p>

Liahn had offered no further assistance and instead turned her attention to finishing tending to Leliana's burn. It was only when the first cloth became a sodden rag in Elissa's hand that the mage had passed her a fresh cloth.

Elissa rocked back on her heels with both cloths clutched in her hand. Her gaze wandered across the small patch of clean grey stone which glistened at her feet towards the dirtier stones where the water had not reached. The small footprints she had left had already dried and there was little point in further smudging the dirt simply for the sake of it.

The cup had skidded across the floor and come to a rest near the door. She pushed herself up and stepped towards it, bending down and catching it up in one smooth movement. A fresh chip now disturbed the smooth rim of it and her forefinger traced the small jagged edge. How many others would do the same?

"Thank you, Warden."

Elissa found the cup gently pried from her hands. Her gaze followed the retreating hand and she watched as Liahn returned it to her table, setting it to one side as she searched for some strips of bandage. The mage sensed that the other woman was watching her and she raised her head, sparing a small smile as though acknowledging the dangers of permitting the Warden to dwell on the seemingly insignificant object.

A knock at the door disturbed the quiet and Elissa spun round, startled. She backed away from the door but was checked in her movement by a tut from Liahn.

Twisting in the direction of the mage, Elissa found that she had moved to Leliana's side and her fingers were deftly fixing the bandage across the Bard's face.

"Warden, please." Liahn threw the words over her shoulder but she spoke with a tone that brokered little tolerance for dissent.

Responding to the tone rather than the instruction, Elissa forced her feet back in the direction of the door. The solid sensation of the cold metal beneath her hands as she pulled on the latch was a small comfort but the argument that she was not in the Fade became further compromised by the déjà vu she now experienced.

"Zev."

The elf smiled in greeting but it faltered as he registered that she offered no reciprocal response. Her hand gripped her tighter around the handle of the latch while she stared at him.

"Did you wish something of me?" he asked at last.

"No," she mumbled.

"May I come in?"

"Of course, Zevran. Your company is always welcome."

At the sound of Liahn's voice, Elissa surrendered her position in the doorway and allowed Liahn to open the door wider to enable Zevran to enter. A hand laid against her shoulder and while Zevran and Leliana exchanged greetings, Liahn exerted a small amount of pressure in a movement that was intended to guide Elissa out into the hallway.

She accompanied the gesture with a murmured explanation. "I will help you back to your room, Warden."

The abrupt dismissal was unexpected and Elissa found that she had no argument. Without bidding either Leliana or Zevran goodbye, she stepped into the corridor. Liahn kept a reassuring hand on her shoulder but Elissa discovered that it was likely unneeded. The presence of another was enough.

The door to her room was open but passing through the doorway, she found that the room did not offer her the same sense of sanctuary that she had experienced in the last few days. It was simply a room. One that had been breached. She would find no greater peace here than anywhere else.

The soft thud of the door closing behind her caused her to start and she turned, surprised to find that Liahn remained with her.

The mage did not meet her eye but walked towards the window and opened it. Leaning against the sill and speaking into the breeze, she remarked "it is just us now, Warden."

"What do you mean?"

Liahn gave a small shake of her head. "It is clear you are not convinced by Leliana's argument yet you refuse to be honest with me."

Elissa looked away from the mage in a desperate search for a distraction. There was a tray of food which had been left on the bedside table and although she had no hunger cravings, she fixated on it. Stone cold and with a skin across the surface of the soup, it was still not the most unappetising meal she had been presented with. She broke a small lump of bread and swirled it in the soup. The sight of the skin wrapping itself around the lump curled her lip and she discarded the bread to one side.

There was a rustle of robes as Liahn moved from the window. Elissa kept her eyes fixed on the bowl of soup but she heard the small gurgle of distaste that rumbled at the back of Liahn's throat. The mage held out a hand and sent a small wave of heat into the liquid which made it simmer then bubble.

"There. It is important that you eat."

"Magic is not meant for menial tasks."

"Wynne's views are not necessarily shared by others, Warden."

Startled that the woman had made the connection between the elder mage and the comment, Elissa raised her head. "Why do you mention Wynne?"

"Why do you not?" Liahn murmured before retreating to the chair in the corner of the room.

Elissa followed the movement from the corner of her eye. "Why would I?"

The mage sighed. "Warden, I spend my life feigning ignorance and speaking in riddles. Please, may we talk freely?"

"I have nothing to say."

"Which does not mean that there is nothing to say," Liahn looked down at her hands which were once more folded in her lap. "Very well, Elissa. I will speak freely and then you may decide whether you owe me the same courtesy."

She remained silent and turned her attention back to the now steaming soup.

"You believe you are trapped in the Fade as a result of Enchanter Wynne's healing."

A simple statement that offered an escape from the torture her mind was inflicting on her. Elissa found that her eyes closed as her focus turned inward in the hopes of unearthing a way of reconciling head and heart.

"Why would you think such a thing?" she heard herself ask.

"I was not surprised to discover that Wynne had died. I knew when I sensed the extensive healing that had already taken place in your body that it had required a great amount of mana. Now though, I believe it required more magic than even Wynne could have had access to," Liahn's voice hardened a fraction. "Your fear that you are somehow trapped in the Fade lends the idea even greater credence."

Her fingers curled around the edge of the table and discretely helped to steady her while she searched desperately for that feeling or sense or Maker sent message which would help to guide her. She had given her word to Wynne and even though she had broken it by revealing the secret to the Wardens, she could convince herself that there remained a difference between that revelation and this.

But the secret was all but destroying her.

"Did Wynne channel energy from the Fade to heal you, Elissa?"

It would take only a nod to confirm the conclusion which Liahn had already reached. A single movement and this numbing fear which had spread throughout her body might be halted. A single nod and a brief explanation and the fear may even be pushed back. Dismissed back into the dark corners of her mind where the rest of her nightmares and terrors were contained.

"Well, Warden?"

* * *

><p>A book rested in the crook of Eamon's arm and he flicked through the pages at regular intervals without bothering to read any of the words. Trusting to his own sorting system, he knew that the book had come from the shelves given over to reference texts and he vaguely remembered deciding that the second shelf should contain those texts which advocated the various ways in which to manage arable land. Aside from that, he had no idea what he was pretending to read.<p>

Alistair sat at the desk behind him, reading over the small collection of documents which Eamon had pushed in the younger man's direction. He was taking his damned time. Eamon had some idea that it was a deliberate attempt to postpone the return to the awkward silence which had followed the strained politeness they had greeted one another with. But the longer Alistair dwelled on the inconsequential supply requests and trade agreements, the longer Eamon had to wait for the younger man to discover the execution order and the easier it was for the older man to begin to wonder whether this was in fact the right course of action to take.

The appearance of Alistair at his study door spoke to the fact that Isolde had succeeded in speaking with him. He doubted whether the boy's sense of pride, even justified as it was in this particular instance, would have permitted him to come to Eamon without some form of prompting.

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind him and Eamon readied himself. Snapping the book shut and discarding it back on the shelf, he contorted his face into an expression of mild concern as he looked to Alistair. "Have I overlooked something?"

The younger man eyed him from behind a closed expression. It would have given little away were it not for the knowledge Eamon had that Alistair was only able to summon such an unwavering expression when he had something to hide. At any other time, the boy was as easy to read as the Chant of Light. Maker help them all when the other nobles realised the presence of the tell.

Leaning back in the chair, Alistair fished out the single sheet of vellum using only his finger and thumb. He held it out to Eamon without comment.

"I do not recall any objectionable request," Eamon strode to the desk to accept the offending sheet.

"It's the execution order for Anora."

"What?" He snatched at the sheet and ran an eye over it. "Alistair, I can only apologise. I intended to discuss this with you separately."

"What's it doing among these?" Alistair waved a hand across the other documents and his deadpan expression cracked to reveal a frown. "I could have just signed it without realising what it was. That can't happen, Eamon. Not over something like this."

The sting of the rebuke surprised him and Eamon found he was flustered. "I would not lead you astray, Alistair."

"Perhaps not deliberately."

There was a hint of an accusation which riled at his sense of propriety. Reminding himself that this was the best opportunity to encourage Alistair to broach the delicate question of the governing of the Arling, Eamon fought to keep his temper.

"Isolde is worried about you."

"Isolde often worries, you know this."

"Yes but after this morning and now this," Alistair nodded towards the execution order Eamon had replaced on the desk and his expression softened into one of concern, "so am I."

"There is much to deal with, Alistair," Eamon allowed his tone to emphasise the underlying meaning of his next comment. "And a significant amount that I could not have anticipated."

He was rewarded by a small wince from Alistair and knew he had pressed on a tender spot. "I know, Eamon. It's not entirely my fault."

"But neither is it mine, Alistair."

A flush of shame coloured the cheeks of the younger man and he dropped his gaze from the Arl. "I know."

"Perhaps you expect too much from me, Alistair."

The young King swung his head up and Eamon was gratified to see the wave of panic that crossed his face. "Eamon, I need your support. I can't do this on my own."

"You will not be alone once you appoint your advisor. I only hope you will find someone before I must return to Redcliffe."

"Teagan can manage Redcliffe."

"Yes but it is unfair to expect him to bear the burden of an Arling without just recognition and reward."

Alistair did not offer an immediate response. He had withdrawn into himself but Eamon fancied that he could see brief glimpses of evidence which suggested that a plan was coalescing in the head of the younger man. A plan which Eamon already fully approved of and had only to wait to hear it spoken out loud.

A sharp knock came at the study door. Before Eamon could bark a dismissal in the hopes that the interruption would not scatter the thoughts he had worked so hard to bring to the forefront of Alistair's mind, the Warden-Commander entered.

Finding that Alistair had found his feet in an instant, Eamon also straightened at the sight of the dwarf.

Argarth acknowledged each man with a small bow but addressed only Eamon. "May we talk, Arl?"

"Of course," Eamon nodded and shot a look towards Alistair.

"We can discuss this further tomorrow, Eamon," the young man muttered as he edged his way from behind the desk and towards the door. "All of it."

Without waiting for an answer, Alistair dismissed himself from the room.

Eamon smothered the desire to curse. He could only hope that the seeds he had sown would benefit from a night of consideration. For the moment, he had a much more critical issue to overcome. "I take it you have reached a decision, Commander?"

Argarth rubbed at his beard with a weary groan that Eamon could empathise with. "We have."

* * *

><p>Alistair had expected Zevran to make an appearance as soon as he departed from the study but the elf was curiously absent. Intrigued but not overly concerned, he made his way back to the rooms given over to Elissa and Leliana.<p>

The moment of peace gave him some time to gather his thoughts. Whatever had passed between Elissa and the Grey Wardens, it appeared that she had satisfied their curiosity with her report to the extent that the Warden-Commander himself had sought out the Arl. And although it was clear that Eamon was suffering from the culmination of events, he had little choice but to trust the man would not fail him now. With the exception of Teagan, he had no other nobles with whom he could admit to his failings quite so readily.

He approached the door to Leliana's room and the absence of any telltale scratch told him that Elissa was not with the Bard. He continued towards her own room and was rewarded by the growing awareness of another tainted being as he neared her.

Not pausing to knock, he pushed the door and stepped into the room. Liahn was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. She rose to her feet at his entrance but the greater portion of his attention was drawn to Elissa who was standing over the bedside table with her back towards him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the bow of the mage's head and he made to acknowledge the mark of respect with a simple gesture when a sudden realisation dawned on him. He snapped his head back in the direction of the mage.

"Why did you bow?"

He had not intended the question to be quite so acerbic but Liahn kept her composure. Standing with her hands clasped loosely in front of her, she cleared her throat. "I was not aware it was inappropriate."

"No, I didn't mean it like that..." he made to apologise but was distracted by his persistent need to understand why she had made the gesture. "Just... why did you bow?"

Liahn paused as she determined whether he did in fact need her to explain. On reaching the conclusion that he was in earnest, it became apparent that she was subsequently debating whether the need was borne from egotism or insanity. He had the disconcerting impression that insanity was winning out.

"You are King." She spoke the words slowly as though she was concerned that the words may come as some irreparable shock.

"He bowed."

"Who bowed, love?" Elissa turned to face him.

She too spoke with a underlying tone which suggested her doubt as to his current mental state and he swung his gaze round to rest on her, ready to retort with a playful insult. She met the gaze with an unblinking stare and it was then he realised that something was wrong and it had nothing to do with his mental capacity.

Whether it was because he was able to see through any pretence she had attempted to project or she was responding to his own change in demeanour at the sight of her, it made little difference. Her arms moved to circle around her upper body and tightened in an effort to fend off what he knew was more than just a chill. The unblinking stare faltered and her gaze slid from his towards the floor. He had little doubt that had she been lying on the bed then she would have curled into herself entirely.

He wanted only to cross the small distance between them, gather her up and promise whatever needed to be promised to make her feel better but the presence of Liahn forced a greater restraint. Instead he turned to the mage with an expression of anxious bewilderment.

"It has been a trying day," the mage murmured.

"Does she need healing?"

"None that I can offer."

The reply was clipped and spoke to some of the tension which existed between the two women but if ever he needed proof that the transformation in Elissa was more than his own mind playing tricks on him then the mage's cryptic response was it. He waited for Liahn to expand on her answer but she made to move towards the door and if he had not dodged in front of her then he was certain she would have left him to figure out the whole mess by himself.

"Wait, what does that mean?" he demanded.

"Let her go, Alistair," Elissa spoke from behind him.

He refused to move from his current position but made no attempt to stop Liahn when she slipped past him. Instead he looked to Elissa for an answer that had all the signs of being one he did not want to know.

The creak of the door as it closed behind the mage banished the self-control he had imposed on himself and he gave into indulgence. A matter of strides and his arms were around her as he attempted to offer a defence against whatever was plaguing her.

"Love, I don't understand." It was not an easy admission to make but it seemed to be the only one which might prompt some explanation as to why, in only a matter of hours, she had descended into such a state.

A moment of stillness and then he felt the gentle shudder of her body against his own. The movement rapidly developed into heaving as she struggled to balance the need to breathe with the need to expel her tears. Maker, she was crying.

Faced with the unenviable task of determining whether the tears were because she needed to release the pent up emotion or simply because he had upset her with what he had said, Alistair opted for silence. She would reach a stage where she was able to speak, be it to inform him or rebuke him. But until then, he would simply hold her and wait.

But even as he made the decision, he still found that his mind raced to uncover some sort of answer. Not that it really mattered. There was no answer which would simply fix her. No doubt there was likely some deep and meaningful reason why she had to endure the upset. A purpose to her pain, hurt, distress that would only be revealed in time. She would be stronger, wiser and generally _better_ for surviving it. All this, he could recite without pause.

But for all he could recite it, he found that none of it was actually any comfort when confronted by someone so broken. What sense did it make to watch someone suffer alone simply because by suffering alone, she may find a way to cope on her own. It was that damned line of argument which had nearly succeeded in killing both of them.

It seemed so unfair that there was not some magical solution he could find for her which would restore her. What was the point of magic if it did not banish such emotions from the lives of good people? At this particular moment, he did not care that magic did not work that way. It should.

Elissa spluttered as the fragile equilibrium between breathing and crying disintegrated. The splutter became a cough and he loosened his arms around her so that she could pull back to gain some air. She did pull back but rather than concentrate on her breathing, her hands leapt to her face in an attempt to hide the tearstains.

Not entirely sure why seeing her upset was worse than either hearing her or having her fall apart in his arms, Alistair caught her wrists before she could turn away from him and gently pulled her hands away. "Elissa, stop it."

The surge of panic at being restrained caused her coughing to worsen and he was forced to let her go. She doubled over in front of him and the odd hacking wail told him that she had yet to make a decision whether to breathe or sob.

Placing a hand on the small of her back, he found he could only offer her practical advice. "Breathe, love."

In any other circumstance, he might have entertained the idea that the muffled gasps which followed were a show of obedience to his command. In the current situation however he could only imagine that Elissa had herself reached the realisation that if she did not focus on one action over the other then she was likely to choke entirely.

Hearing the gasps steady out into a recognisable rhythm, Alistair moved his hand to her shoulder and forced her to straighten up. The improved posture meant she was able to drag more air into her body and her breathing became less shallow.

"I... I'm... s...sor..." she attempted before a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks.

Alistair pulled the sleeve of his shirt down, ignoring the protest of both material and stitching across his shoulders as he did, and wiped at her cheeks. She spluttered again but this time it seemed to be a result of a sporadic giggle that had bubbled up from some unknown part of her not wreaked by unhappiness.

"No ... handker...chief?"

"Left it in my armour," he murmured.

She gulped out another small giggle and he smiled at the strange sound.

"I... I never ga... gave you a... handkerchief."

"I didn't say you did."

"Handkerchiefs are ... love... tok... tokens."

The smile crinkled into a grin at her attempt at humour, hopeless as it was. "Then this is awkward."

He was almost certain that she laughed. The loud bray that escaped from her could be little else even though it caused her to double over once more as further coughing racked her body. Anticipating that she was verging towards hysteria and under no illusions that he would be able to cope with a hysterical woman, Alistair forced her to sit down on the nearby chair while she concentrated on her breathing. Crouching in front of her, he rested his hands on her knees and willed her to regain enough composure to tell him anything which would help him to understand.

Sniffing but with her breathing more controlled, Elissa closed her eyes. In a half whisper, she confessed, "I... I've made a ... mess."

"What mess?"

"Liahn knows about Wynne."

It took a few moments but it dawned on him what she was talking about. "You've told a Circle mage that one of their Enchanters was possessed?"

"Maybe."

It was fortunate that she had her eyes closed because she missed the way his jaw fell open. As it was, he was unable to prevent his hands from falling away from her knees.

"Do you realise what you've done?"

Her eyelids sprang open and he was dismayed to see her eyes were glistening with fresh tears. "It's not like that."

He wanted to believe her if only because it might stop her crying. But even he could not reconcile the desire to comfort her with dismissing the significance of what she might have just revealed to him. Unable to trust that his building judgement would not creep into his voice, Alistair only raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't intend to focus on the Spirit. I just explained how Wynne could save me and they seemed to be intrigued and I knew I couldn't tell them about Morrigan in case they decided to hunt her down so I just told them the truth about Wynne and... and... and..." she stumbled over her words in her desperate haste to make him understand.

"This is to the Grey Wardens?" he attempted to make sense of her ramblings.

"Yes, the Wardens. I begged them not to speak to the mages. I explained the paranoia it would cause especially after Uldred. See, I do understand the consequences. I do. I never intended that anyone else would find out. I felt I could trust Argarth and what else could I do? They would have discovered the truth about Morrigan and Wynne had passed and it didn't seem to hurt anyone so long as the Circle didn't find out..."

Alistair returned one of his hands to her knee and squeezed. "Love, just tell me the facts and we can talk everything else over later."

"The Wardens think Wynne's healing provided some connection to the Fade which spared my life. And..." she took a deep breath, "I can't work out whether I'm trapped in the Fade or not."

Alistair rose to his full height and took a few steps away from the chair. His hand passed through his hair as he tried to make sense of what she had told him but it was proving beyond his competence, Maker help him. He glanced back to at the broken figure he had turned his back on to find that she had slumped forward and was cradling her head in her hands.

Swallowing the groan, he crouched back down in front of her again and she raised her head just enough so that she could peer at him from behind her fingers.

"I think I'm going to need more facts."


	35. Bawdy and Soul

Her bare toes curled around the edge of the wooden chair while her legs were drawn up against her chest. Resting her chin on top of her knees, she welcomed the comforting darkness that came with closed eyes. It was taking a pleasant amount of concentration to remain perched on the chair and while the thought of unfolding herself to move to the bed only a tantalising number of strides away was appealing, Elissa did not wish to give herself any further opportunity for thought.

Alistair was somewhere in the room; near the window she supposed. An occasional deep breath followed by a long exhale punctuated the regular sound of his breathing. Aside from his single question as to whether she had told Liahn outright about Wynne and her one-word response, neither of them seemed to have the energy to break the silence which now surrounded them. Though in fairness to him, she did not know what he could say to convince her that her fears about the Fade were unfounded.

Some time in between her splutters, snivels and sobs, he had stood and stretched the cramping aches from his body with a muffled groan. But then he had turned from her and begun to pad about the room while she continued with her explanation.

Shortly after that she had closed her eyes and allowed her voice to finally trail off as her explanation came to an end.

The draft from the still-open window meant that a numbness was beginning to settle in her toes and the growing discomfort threatened to upset her balance. She was forced to readjust her position and the squeak of her feet straining against the chair's smooth wooden grain filled the room.

There was a heartbeat of a pause and then a heavy sigh followed the small noise. A rustle of fabric betrayed that Alistair had moved but there was no accompanying soft scuff of footfalls. He must only have straightened, perhaps looked in her direction.

"You're angry at me." Her self-imposed darkness made the statement easier to voice.

She imagined that the words dripped from her lips, flowed over her knees and puddled at the base of the chair into yet another mess that would need to be cleaned.

A stillness indicated that she had caught him by surprise before one, two, three dull scrapes of his boots revealed that he had adjusted his position. Not nearer her, but she fancied that he was likely facing her now.

"No, love. Not really."

The clearness of his voice proved her supposition right but the satisfaction was short-lived. The term of endearment was negated by his partial denial. A resigned anger but not necessarily directed wholly towards her. Still, it was enough to jar.

Her arms which loosely looped around her legs now dropped downwards to her feet and her fingers unfurled in order to curl around her toes and encourage some warmth back into them. The movement meant that her centre of balance shifted yet again and distracted as she was by his response, her eyelids sprang open in reflex.

The surge of light caused her to flinch and one of her arms rose to block some of the intensity. Her legs struggled to counterbalance the movement and as she pushed against the edge of the seat, her feet slid off and slapped hard against the floor. The sting against her bare flesh accompanied by the uncomfortable jolt which travelled the length of her body forced a pained yelp from her.

Startled by the clatter behind him, Alistair spun on the spot. The sudden flurry of movement from the periphery of her vision caught her attention and she spared a brief glance for him. He had been closer to the far side of the bed than the window. He had never moved that far from her.

The varied discomforts now inflicted on her body reclaimed her attention and Elissa leant forward in her seat in an attempt rub the stinging sensation radiating from her soles. Her skin was an odd mottled colour and seeing the grey-blue of her flesh prompted her to acknowledge just how cold she had allowed her feet to become.

In only a matter of strides, Alistair was crouched beside her. He blew on his hands a few times before wrapping them around one foot and then the other while he coaxed some life back into her extremities. She made no protest and only leant back, wriggling her toes in a half-hearted attempt to assist his efforts.

He chuckled softly. "Did you play that as a child?"

"What?"

He pinched her big toe between his thumb and forefinger. "This little piggy."

It was an obscure reference to a long-forgotten childhood game but even so, she stiffened.

"I'll take that as a yes," Alistair raised his head to look at her.

She met his gaze with a cold stare but it only seemed to encourage him and the beginnings of a roguish grin accompanied the already present glint in his eye. Her whole body tensed in dread and she wondered if he realised just how difficult it was to control the urge to rip her foot from his grasp.

"Don't... you... dare," she breathed.

His hands continued to massage her feet even as the grin widened. "You know what they say, love."

"Alis..."

"Don't dare an idiot," he interrupted.

Before she could react, one hand clamped around her ankle while his other hand trailed a finger up the sensitive skin of her in-step.

She shrieked; an ear-piercing sound resonated around the walls and both flinched as the sound reverberated in their heads. She had no doubt that she had acted with more decorum when that genlock had practically run her through during their travels through the Deep Roads.

Her hands gripped at the edge of the chair while she attempted to discern whether kicking him in the face was in any way justified, even if she could disguise it as wrestling free from him. But rationality won out and she settled for the less violent, though less satisfying, compromise of simply hauling her foot out of his hold.

Alistair allowed her to slip free but was quick to find his feet in order to remove himself from any form of retaliation. She glared up at him, still gripping the seat with her feet pressed flat against the floor to prevent him from trying that particular trick again.

A snigger escaped into the room and the shake of his shoulders indicated that he was suppressing the urge to laugh outright. She pushed herself up from the chair though watching him back away with hands held up in mock surrender, mollified her, at least in part. It was a pity that his splutters of laugher hampered the truly contrite look he was aiming for.

Taking a threatening step in his direction, she narrowed her eyes further. "I don't think you're really sorry."

"Me neither," he grinned but continued to maintain his safe distance from her.

Faced with such blatant disregard for true repentance, Elissa could only snort. She shook her head in his direction before moving towards the bed and knelt down, fumbling underneath it for the borrowed boots that had been kicked underneath during the events of the day. Her fingers grazed against leather and she hauled both out. Unfolding her legs from beneath her, she remained on the floor while she pulled the boots onto her feet. A sigh of relief escaped from her as the footwear provided an instant protection against the chill.

Alistair shuffled across the room towards her and held out his hand to her.

Tilting her head so that she could catch his eye, she shot him a small glare just in case he thought he was entirely forgiven. "Decided to be a gentleman now?"

"Decided to be more ladylike?"

The retort took her aback for a moment before a small laugh bubbled up. Releasing some of the tension that was supporting her posture, she slumped back against the bed frame with her legs stretched out across the flagstones. She patted the stone slab beside her in invitation.

He dropped down next to her, mirroring her position. "Still think you're trapped in the Fade?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Isn't the point of the Fade that it's some tempting paradise of all your wishes?" His foot knocked against hers as he made his point. "Why would you still be ticklish?"

The logic was there but the lack of inspiration floored her. She was unsure whether his teasing offended her or if it was his insinuation that she had so little imagination that a simple change in her reality might seduce her.

"Also," he continued, "if you were trapped in the Fade then don't you think we might have a better response to convince you otherwise? One that didn't rely on tickling you."

"I don't know."

"Flaming Andraste, Elissa." The movement of his foot stopped and he twisted where he sat so that he could look at her straight on. The frustration he had done well to hold onto finally broke through and a weariness crept across his face, banishing all traces of amusement at teasing her. "Do you know what's more disturbing? That you can only be happy when you're miserable. Look at yourself, love." His forehead furrowed in a crinkled frown that was already beginning to look far too familiar on his face. "Why would you wish for any of this to happen to you?"

Biting at her lip, she tried to search out a suitable answer for him. It was more difficult than it should have been. She had never considered herself to be one who thrived on misery, self-inflicted or otherwise. And she had no wish to become one who flourished on the misery of others. Yet seeing the way Alistair was studying her at that moment, it was painfully apparent that her misery was contagious to those closest to her. It seemed true that misery did indeed love company.

Alistair glanced away from her with a small shake of his head as he took her silence to be her response. He clambered back onto his feet and began dusting down his breeches. "I guess there is nothing else to say."

"No, wait..." she gabbled.

He did what she asked and waited. Sensing that she had grasped at a last chance, Elissa scrabbled at the shadowy recesses of her mind in a desperate attempt to find words, any words, which might communicate just how confused, frightened and desperate to be reassured she was.

But whatever answer she was unable to vocalise must somehow have found its way across her face because, he hesitantly held out his hand to her once more. This time though it hovered just beyond her reach and was accompanied by a strained silence. Despite this, she was ready to convince herself that there was hope.

His brief hesitation prompted her to lunge forward and deny that she had ever faltered. Grabbing his hand, she felt his fingers wrap around her wrist and he pulled her up onto her feet.

"Come on." He began walking backwards as he drew her towards the door. "I told Sten and Oghren to come and see you this evening, but I'm sure an hour or so earlier won't do any harm."

"I don't..."

The thought of having to confront the absence of companions by meeting those who remained was not a welcome one but as his crinkled frown reappeared, she bit back the remainder of the protest. His reaction revealed that he needed the reassurance and security of being surrounded by friends as much as anything else. He was struggling too, but they both knew that she was not strong enough to help him bear the burden. So she would do what she could to support him and if meeting with Oghren and Sten offered him a small period of respite then she would do it.

Elissa squeezed his hand. "Careful how much you frown at me, love. Maker knows what you'll look like in ten years."

The frown deepened into a glare before his whole expression lightened and a lopsided grin surfaced. "You'll still love me though, won't you?"

Chewing at the corner of her lip, she tilted her head and made a deliberate show of studying each and every one of his facial features. "Touch and go. We'll have to see how you look."

"Have to see?" he echoed, indignant outrage colouring his tone.

She swallowed a giggle and attempted to straighten her expression into one of sage contemplation.

Alistair narrowed his eyes at the performance. "Look you, we both know that I make being tainted look good."

"Now, maybe," she found the audacity to give a troubled sigh and then threw in an apologetic shrug for good measure. "But in ten years?"

"Now _and_ in ten years."

"Well if that's the case then, do you promise to still love me when I'm all tainted and mad?"

"Oh love..." His expression smoothed out into the wide-eyed innocence of a young Chantry boy and he cradled her against him, slipping his hand around her waist. He hooked a finger beneath her chin and titled her head up as a soft smile graced his face. "... how will I know the difference?"

She jerked her chin from his touch and let her head fall against his shoulder accompanied by a loud groan. Speaking into his shoulder she complained, "it's shocking that you're still able to summon such a look, you know."

A throaty chuckle greeted the muffled remark and he dropped his hand from her waist, chasing away the last of his pretence. "You're the one that corrupted me."

"Exactly," she stepped back in order to catch his eye. "I know just how wicked you really are."

Ushering her out into the hall, he snorted. "Uh huh. Tell me, my virtuous lady, how do you know what is and isn't wicked?"

Elissa fluttered her eyelashes at him in her own attempt to summon an inner purity that had become increasingly misplaced over the months. "I have no idea myself, of course."

"Of course," he agreed with a solemn nod. His hand rested against her back as he guided her along the corridor towards Leliana's room.

"But you hear such shocking things in taverns."

"And what would my honourable lady be doing in a tavern?"

"Saving the worthy gentlemen from drowning in his own pool of vomit."

"Ah." There was an odd mixture of pride and embarrassment in the laugh which followed. "I'd forgotten about that."

She flashed him a smile and offered up a truce. "You won us back our weapons after that card game. I figure we're even."

Knocking against the door, he glanced down at her with a grin. "Glad to hear it."

A muffled summons greeted the knock and Alistair pushed open the door before gesturing that Elissa should go ahead of him. Scooting in front of him, she was greeted with a smile from Leliana. The Bard remained in the bed but Zevran was lounging on a chair which had been pulled up next to the bedside. His feet were pushing against the edge of the bedside table as he swung back on the legs of the chair and Elissa had to admire both the strength and dexterity involved in making the position look effortless. The elf threw a glance over his shoulder on seeing Leliana's reaction and his own face broke into a welcoming smile at the sight of the couple.

"Warden."

The sound of Liahn's cool greeting dragged her attention to the table positioned against the far wall. The mage was also seated, facing towards the bed though her body was twisted so that she could hunch closer over the table. With Zevran positioned with his back to the room, Elissa had assumed that the Bard and elf were alone.

"Liahn," she swallowed, caught off-guard.

"I hope you are feeling calmer."

"Yes, yes thank you," she murmured, shuffling further into the room as Alistair shut the door behind them.

Liahn got to her feet, smoothing her robes out and picking at an invisible piece of lint. "I am glad to hear it."

While Elissa doubted that the mage would wish harm against her, she had trouble believing that Liahn was sincere. Whatever else had happened since Liahn had returned to the room, it was clear that battle lines had been drawn and it did not take much to realise what had prompted the reaction. The answers which Liahn had failed to pry from Elissa, she had unsuccessfully tried to glean from Leliana and Zevran.

Sensing that Elissa did not intend to engage her in further conversation, the mage focused her attention towards Alistair. He had turned from the door and was surveying the behaviour of his friends with a faint frown.

"Zevran has informed me that you wish Leliana to join you this evening," Liahn interrupted his thoughts, her hand dropping tot eh side as she removed the offending piece of fluff.

He blinked then glanced towards Leliana. "Yes. That is, if she wants to."

"Very much so, dear heart," the Bard nodded in earnest.

Liahn cleared her throat. "I would wish that appropriate assistance is provided for her."

"What do you recommend?"

"She must not be allowed to move of her own accord. It will hinder any further healing of her mobility."

Alistair nodded. "We'll make sure she doesn't."

"Very well." Liahn began to gather up her various poultices and salves from her table as she continued to talk. "I do not expect that she will require my services for the remainder of the evening but I will be in the Chantry if you have need of me." She paused and looked to Alistair and Elissa, allowing her gaze to linger on them. "Unless there is something you wish to speak about with me now?"

"Is there anything that we have to discuss, Liahn?"

Alistair succeeded in asking the question in a tone of such genial bewilderment that Elissa had to fight the overwhelming urge to risk an admiring glance in his direction. He was no liar but she had known for some time that he was more than capable of playing the fool. Still, that particular response had to be one of his finer moments.

"Apparently not," the mage pursed her lips.

"Then we'll see you tomorrow, yes?"

Liahn bowed in acknowledgement before gathering up her small bag of supplies. Elissa remained focused on the flagstone at her feet so that all she saw was the mage's boots as she crossed in front of them on her way out the door. It was only after the dull thud of the closing door and the stomping footsteps faded away that she allowed herself to raise her head again. As if in sync with her thoughts, Alistair let out the breath he had been holding.

Elissa threw him a smile. "You did well, love."

"For now anyway." His hand ran through his hair before he focused on Leliana and Zevran. "What happened?"

The Bard exchanged a look with Zevran and there was a clunk as the elf lowered the chair back onto all four legs. Leliana shook her head as she turned back to Alistair.

"She tried to question us about Wynne and became agitated when we claimed not to know what she referred to."

Zevran found his feet and moved to stand by the foot of the bed. Offering his own assessment, he suggested, "she is certain of what she knows but without confirmation there is little she can do."

Alistair groaned and his hand hovered at the back of his head while he scrunched his eyes shut. "Maker, a mage uprising is not what I need."

Elissa winced. "She doesn't have any tangible proof."

"This is true," Zevran agreed, leaning his shoulder against one of the bottom bedposts. "Denial is not the solution but it will likely deter her for a short time."

"Maybe," Alistair muttered but seemed lost in his thoughts. After a few moments he shook himself and focused on the others. "But she won't need proof so long as she can garner enough support among the other mages."

Ever optimistic, Leliana attempted to find the single tentative ray of hope. "If."

A small shake his head became quickly more pronounced as Alistair convinced himself of his own argument. "When."

There was a finality to his tone which spoke to his reluctant acknowledgement of inevitability. The sound pricked at Elissa's conscience and she swallowed in an attempt to dislodge the guilt clogging her throat.

So succinctly robbed of her alternative outlook, Leliana looked troubled. "Then we cannot sit by and do nothing. The Knight-Commander should be alerted."

Alistair grunted, arms folding across his chest as he leant back against the wall. "If I do that then Ferelden will have only Tranquils in its Circle."

"It is preferable to bloodshed, is it not?" A frown was brewing on the Bard's face as she struggled to make sense of the reluctance to take what were surely necessary precautions. "Wynne understood the importance of the Circle."

"Wynne's views are not necessarily held by others." The words came unbidden and it was only with the prickling sensation of three stares that Elissa realised that she had spoken. Flinching at her indiscretion, she ducked her head and stared at the floor again. "That's what Liahn said. About using magic. Not the Circle."

"Tomorrow," Alistair sighed. "We'll deal with this tomorrow."

Leliana made to protest but he cut her off.

"Leliana, please, not tonight. Just for one Maker-forsaken night, can we pretend that there's no darkspawn or politics or bloody rebellions? Tomorrow I promise we'll talk about this. All of us will talk about this. But not tonight. Please, Leliana."

The tense silence which followed prompted Elissa to glance up. The intensity with which Leliana fixed her stare on Alistair gave a clear indication of what the Bard thought to the suggestion of the postponement. True, there was much to be discussed but Alistair was right; there was little which could be achieved in the next few hours. And whatever needed to be done would require careful planning and foresight, something which none of them had the capacity for at the moment.

Zevran was evidently of the same opinion. He straightened and his head swung from studying Alistair and Elissa to focus on the woman lying in the bed. "Come now, Leliana. Such a discussion requires fresh minds."

Leliana transferred her stare from Alistair to the elf and for the longest moment, Elissa feared that she would refuse. But then Leliana blinked and a heavy sigh expressed her discontented compliance. She looked away from Zevran and eyed Alistair with suspicion.

"I assume you intend to carry me downstairs. Do you promise not to drop me?"

The tension ebbed from Alistair and he grinned at her, pushing himself off the wall. "Well, not deliberately anyway."

Zevran snorted. He approached Elissa, dodging around Alistair as the man moved to the bedside, and bowed low before graciously offering his arm to her. A smile blossomed on her face at his theatrics and with a reciprocal extravagant bow, she accepted and they tactfully left Alistair and Leliana to work out their logistics in peace.

Wandering down the hallway at an amble, Elissa gave his arm a small squeeze. "I'm sorry I was rude earlier, Zev."

"I have suffered worse, my friend," he laughed then patted her arm. "Leliana has explained that you believe you are trapped in the Fade. Is this still the case?"

Elissa hesitated but then shook her head. "No."

"Perhaps this is just as well." There was a mischievousness to the elf's tone. "After all, if this truly is the Fade then we must ask ourselves what deep and dark desire does my presence represent?"

"I don't think it works that way, Zev."

"But perhaps it is worth considering nevertheless, my friend. Now let us think. When we first met, it was your feminine wiles which entrapped me."

"Are there many feminine wiles at the business end of a blade?"

"Truly, it depends on the creature who wields the blade," he smirked. "But concentrate, Elissa. When we first met, seduced as I was by your bewitching looks, how far along in your relationship with our dear Alistair were you?"

"We were just friends."

"Excellent. We can at least be certain that if this is the Fade then I am not a manifestation of unfilled sexual desire."

Elissa spluttered in spite of herself. The sound prompted Zevran to cast a sly sideways glance at her and she prayed that the blush creeping across her cheeks would cool.

The elf chuckled, enjoying the discomfort of his companion. "Though we have yet to explain why my presence is required. Perhaps there is some unresolved desire you have yet to experience? Something I can help with?"

The sound of footfalls behind them caused the blush to advance further over her face. She was well-aware that the elf was angling for a reaction and now he had an audience.

"Zev, shut up," she hissed.

"Of course realising the desire would mean that my presence may no longer be required," he ignored her protestation and raised his voice so that Alistair and Leliana behind them could hear every damned word he said. "Perhaps I will have to trust that your needs will be addressed in time. However, let it not be said that I am unwilling to face my fate. Elissa, my services are at your command should you wish."

A suppressed laugh from behind hinted at Leliana's enjoyment of the situation and Elissa had no problem imagining her friend as the sensuous Bard rather than the chaste Chantry Sister.

Whether it was what Zevran had said or the reaction it had provoked in Leliana, Alistair began muttering darkly under his breath. Lengthening his stride so that he fell into step with Elissa, he shot her a dirty look over Leliana's head.

"Now are you satisfied this isn't the Fade?"

Even before Zevran tightened his grip on her arm, she knew. She _knew_ the elf would not let the poor choice of words go unremarked upon. Elissa swivelled her head round to face Zevran and the expression of unbridled glee almost made her laugh. Almost.

"Yes, Warden, are you _satisfied_?"

There was a strangled curse from behind her and before she could offer the elf a response, Alistair strode away and left them in his wake as he led the way down the corridor and towards the staircase. A mixture of giggling and reassurances floated over his shoulder as Leliana attempted to placate him.

Elissa turned a resentful glare on the elf. "That was cruel."

"Perhaps," he grinned, unperturbed by her rebuke, "but it was not intended so." The grin widened and the elf jerked his head in the direction of the now vanished Alistair. "Though I do feel obligated to warn you that his ego will be feeling bruised."

"Well that was your doing, not mine."

"Yes but I do not believe he would welcome my attempts at repairing it," Zevran laughed.

She groaned, her cheeks capable of warming any frozen lamppost in sodding winter. Perhaps that was the answer she should have given to the question regarding how far their relationship had developed. She was certain that little discussion would have been enough to throw even Zevran, non-sequitur as it had been.

Evidently content with the fun he had gained at her expense, Zevran picked up his pace. "Come, Elissa. I need to fetch Sten and Oghren once I have escorted you downstairs."

She obliged without protest. Descending the stairs to the ground floor, they found themselves in the midst of a flurry of activity. Servants darted around the pair while the unmistakeable sound of Isolde's voice drifted from one of the small rooms further towards the main hall.

Elissa slowed her pace as she fought the urge to turn tail but Zevran anticipated her reaction and planted his hand against the small of her back, nudging her forward.

"Traitor," she muttered.

The elf chuckled but made no retort, instead preferring to push her towards the open doorway. His actions were well-intentioned but it only served to ignite her stubborn streak. She began to tense but, demonstrating a flawless knowledge of his fearless leader, Zevran countered her reaction by giving her a final shove through the door.

Elissa staggered and it was all she could do to stop herself from careering into the back of Isolde who was standing just inside the room. Months of surviving on nerves meant her reflexes were honed enough to prevent her from actually knocking into the Arlessa but the identical expressions of wide-eyed horror which materialised on the faces of Leliana and Alistair betrayed what had almost happened. Seeing their faces, Isolde stopped mid-sentence and spun on the spot, ready to rebuke the clumsy servant.

An awkward pause witnessed both women struggling to claim a degree of composure. Fortunately months of surviving on nerves was nothing compared to the years Eleanor Cousland had spent cultivating etiquette in her young daughter.

"Arlessa," Elissa took a discrete step backwards so she could bow.

Isolde reciprocated with a small curtsy. "Hero."

"I am grateful for the hospitality shown to me while I have been recovering from the battle."

The woman's mouth twisted itself into a thin smile. "It is our honour, Hero."

Elissa bobbed her head, her attention flicking round the room. Alistair stood in front of the fireplace while Leliana sat on a bench on the far side of a long wooden table. With an eye to seeking refuge next to the Bard, Elissa sidled around Isolde. "I apologise for my interruption. Please, continue."

"Arlessa," Alistair redirected the woman's attention back to matters at hand, "there's no rush. Just have things brought in when they're ready."

Isolde dipped another curtsy. Having secured her seat beside Leliana, it did not escape Elissa's attention that the deliberate execution of the gesture was in sharp contrast to the perfunctory one the woman had offered her.

"I can only apologise. It was short-sightedness on my part. I did not anticipate that you would be earlier than you stated."

"Exactly," Alistair nodded earnestly; keen to draw the conversation to a close. "It's my fault. Really, it's not a problem."

"Thank you for your understanding," she bobbed again. "I will see that this is dealt with immediately."

"That's fine."

Aware that she was being dismissed, Isolde threw a half-hearted nod of acknowledgement towards the women before taking her leave.

Alistair rolled his eyes as he turned to face Elissa and Leliana. "No one usually pays attention to what I say."

Leliana smiled, her arms resting against the edge of the table as she supported herself. "You are King, dear heart. We are awaiting every word with bated breath."

He grunted before fixing a good-natured glare on his betrothed. "And was that entrance really necessary?"

"Zev pushed me," Elissa pouted.

"Of course he did," Alistair sighed, rubbing at his eyes with both hands. "Well hopefully we might have something to eat and drink before he returns with Sten and Oghren."

"In the meantime, you can do something about that," Leliana nodded towards the unlit fireplace behind him.

Alistair twisted round to see what she was referring to before turning back. "I'm not lighting the fire."

"Oh, so now lighting a fire is beneath His Majesty?" Leliana began shaking her head in mock disappointment.

"That's not what..."

"Clearly he expects either you or I to see to such things, dear one," she caught Elissa's eye, ignoring the attempt to interrupt her.

"No, I was..."

"Do you not think such a thing is shameful?"

An exasperated curse escaped from Alistair. "How do you propose I light a fire without kindling?"

"Stop teasing him," Elissa gently scolded her friend, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Leliana giggled and shrugged. "It is too easy, dear one."

Their good-natured bickering was interrupted by the arrival of one of the housemaids who was thankfully burdened with the implements required for starting said fire. Her presence prevented any opportunity for the lingering issues that prodded at the edge of the conversation to become fully realised and the trio settled into a companionable discussion of events which mercifully did not veer anywhere near Orlesian Grey Wardens, politics or the Fade.

A barrel of ale was rolled in by two guardsmen a short time later. Both were breathing heavily at the hasty exertion, no doubt insisted on by Isolde, and Elissa offered them the opportunity to sample some of the ale as reward for their trouble. Yet despite the lingering looks both gave towards the barrel, they mumbled their declinations with a shake of their heads. The distraction of servants entering with plates filled with a selection of food prevented either Elissa or Alistair tempting the guardsmen further and the two men slipped away from the room. By the time the loud bellow of Oghren's voice and Sten's heavy tread echoing in the hall announced the arrival of their companions, the room was warm, welcoming and full of hospitality.

But confronted with the reality of having to meet the last of her abandoned companions, Elissa experienced a small surge of unbridled panic. Before she could act on it however, Oghren had already thrown open the door and as he sauntered into the room, the dwarf was already trading insults with Alistair who remained in front of the now roaring fire.

Sten, on the other hand, paid little to any of the companions and instead placed a large cloth-wrapped bundle on the table in front of Elissa and Leliana. He busied himself untying it and folding back the various layers while Oghren availed himself of the ale barrel and Zevran claimed a space on the seat opposite Leliana.

Passing behind Elissa, Oghren slapped her heartily on the shoulder before thumping down on the other side of the Bard.

"Gave us a sodding scare, eh girl?" He took a gulp of his ale before waving the cup in Elissa's general direction. "We expected as much from that one but not you."

Leliana smiled. "I could not allow you to have all the fun."

Before Oghren could retort, the Qunari looked up from the bundle and fixed a disapproving look on Alistair. The simple action commanded the attention of everyone even before he spoke.

"These are what matter," he stabbed a finger at the objects. "Not graves."

Silence fell over the room as both Elissa and Leliana sat up straighter in order to catch a glimpse of the objects while Alistair surrendered his position in front of the fire and approached Sten's side. Nestled in the cloth were two short swords and a staff.

"How did you find these?" Alistair leant forward and picked up one of the blades, inspecting it closely with an air of disbelief.

"It does not matter. It only matters that I have."

Oghren grunted, swilling the remnants of his ale in his cup before swigging it down. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before revealing, "he'd found the staff before Elissa even woke up. Took a bit longer with the swords."

Elissa tore her gaze away from the staff and let it settle on the Qunari. She had no idea how he had found the swords. He must have examined each and every blade he had come across. Yet she did not doubt that the blades were Riordan's. It was too important to Sten to believe that he would make a mistake. And that he had thought to save Wynne's staff, _saarebas_ as she was to him, was in itself enough to chase away the last of her reservations in addressing him.

"Thank you, Sten," she murmured.

He only nodded and took his seat at her side. Zevran pushed a cup of ale towards the Qunari without comment while Alistair replaced the blade next to its partner. He moved towards the opposite end of the table and settled down beside the elf.

For a long while, the six sat in a reflective silence which had been heralded by Sten's revelation. Eventually though, bit by bit, the conversation began to pick up as recollections of Wynne, Shale and even Riordan proved uppermost in everyone's mind. There were also mentions of Morrigan though furtive glances towards Elissa and Alistair soon revealed that the Witch was not a subject either of them wished to be drawn on. Eventually reverential memories gave way to entertaining anecdotes and the conversation began to flow once more.

"Warden." The low rumble of Sten's voice cut through the banter at the table. Elissa turned to face the Qunari.

"We'll make sure that these," her hand crept across the table and towards the weapons, "are looked after, Sten."

"I am glad." His gruff manner revealed that she had misinterpreted his intentions. "But I wish to discuss the oath I took."

"The oath?" The intonation of her voice rose as she caught the meaning. "Oh, from Lothering?"

"Yes. I have fulfilled it."

Elissa was quiet for a moment. "You're asking permission to leave, aren't you?"

"Yes."

She wanted to reassure him that he was welcome to stay with them. But already knowing that he would refuse, she wanted to ensure that he had somewhere to go. Yet even such a simple question as that would be unlikely to elicit a straightforward response. So she found that all that was left to do was nod. "Of course, Sten."

He gave a brisk nod and turned his attention to his ale. It was clear that Sten believed the conversation to be at an end. There was to be no accusation or judgement of either her or her actions. Relief and gratitude should have been uppermost in her thoughts but instead curiosity became the irritating itch in her head.

Despite knowing that the question would likely prompt some tautological argument, she asked, "you know I left, don't you?"

"Yes."

"So why does our agreement still matter? Surely I've proved myself unworthy of it?"

His head swivelled towards her and she was greeted with his habitual passive expression. "I am worthy of it."

"Of course. I just... I didn't..."

"You are a woman. Women cannot be warriors." The Qunari turned away from her once more and took another swig of his ale.

Studying his profile, Elissa found herself almost at a loss for words. "You're not surprised that I left."

"No."

The sentiment was not one that she wished to encourage but the unique manner in which Sten had succeeded in reconciling her actions was one that she was unable to counter. With little desire to have the remainder of her flaws raked over with such unwavering conviction, Elissa raised her own cup of ale towards the Qunari. "It's been a privilege, Sten."

* * *

><p>With the majority of the food having been eaten, the ale barrel fully drained and the conversation dwindling, Leliana signalled to Alistair that she was ready to return to her room. Sensing that his social obligation had reached its natural conclusion, Sten also indicated that he wished to leave and with an unusual demonstration of tact, Oghren too decided that he was prepared to call it a night despite not having spoken privately with Elissa. He promised that he would call on her in the morning before nudging the elf with his elbow as means of questioning whether Zevran intended to accompany them back to their lodgings. Zevran hesitated as he ascertained whether Elissa required a calming presence at her side while Alistair was preoccupied with Leliana but she waved him away with a grateful smile. She would be content to trail behind the pair.<p>

Tiredness prevented much conversation between the trio as they headed back through the estate and aside from the odd murmured exchange between Alistair and Leliana, the return to the bedrooms was mostly in silence. Hovering at the door, Elissa waited while Alistair settled Leliana back on her bed. It took a few attempts but eventually Leliana convinced both of them that they did not need to summon any of the healers and that a servant often checked on her during the night. Bidding the Bard goodnight, they retreated back out into the hall but Elissa was surprised to find that Alistair dawdled the remaining distance between Leliana's room and theirs.

When she reached the door, she rested her hand on the latch. "What's wrong, love?"

He made a face, his hand creeping up to rub at the back of his neck. "Eamon doesn't want us sharing a room."

"Oh." The Arl's request was not entirely unexpected but she had no wish to be alone simply to alleviate a nobleman's obsession with propriety. Maker be thanked her father could not hear that particular thought.

"It's just until we fix things with the Wardens," he added.

"What do the Wardens matter when it comes to us?"

Seeing the distress etched across her face, Alistair slid his hand against her cheek and his thumb traced across the cheekbone in an attempt to reassure her. "I don't know but we have to trust Eamon."

She heard the words but paid little attention as a little thrill of excitement made her breath hitch and her thoughts scatter at the nearness of him. The encouraging smile on his face faltered as his fingers sensed the change in her and she watched as his eyes searched her face. For what, she had no idea. Perhaps he had said something else and she had missed it but suddenly, she found that she had no interest in either Eamon or Grey Wardens. At least not the Orlesian Wardens. A certain Fereldan Grey Warden however... Maker, this was what happened when darkspawn, politics and bloody rebellions were pushed to one side. Even just for one night.

Whether her true intent flashed across her face or spoke through his fingers, it brought its own reward. His expression changed from anxious concern to a split second worth of surprise before he tightened the grip of his fingers against her head and drew her towards him with a well-practised ease.

Even as her own hand trailed up to his cheek in an attempt to prevent him from pulling away while she deepened the kiss, she expected to hear some muffled protest or half-hearted objection but none was forthcoming. Satisfied that he was sufficiently convinced that Eamon's request could wait until tomorrow like everything else, her other hand scrabbled at the door latch behind her. Hearing the squeal of the catch slipping from its hold, she brought both of her hands to his chest and gripped at his shirt. Still caught in the embrace, she yanked him against her while at the same time taking a step back against the door. Their combined weight meant that it creaked open with no further persuasion and in a tangle of limbs they staggered into the room. The manoeuvre was repeated in reverse in order to close the door and the bang which followed marked the end of all coherent thought for the remainder of the night.

* * *

><p><em>Many thanks to the wonderful <em>_**EasternViolet**__ for her beta work on this chapter. All mistakes are entirely mine._


	36. Give Them Enough Rope

Five Orlesian Grey Wardens occupied a corner of the near-empty Gnawed Noble. Coin and cards were scattered across the table in front of them but the late hour of the night, and their Second's bad luck, meant that the game had been abandoned.

With little else to do, Torih inspected his small blade while Korgik examined the contents of a small scrap of vellum which the dwarf had pulled from the depths of his pocket. The two older men muttered across the table at each other, and if Torih correctly interpreted their furtive glances towards one of the barmaids, their detailed discussion involved the woman's attributes. The youngest of their company, another human who had some skill in archery, had greeted the beginnings of the conversation with a disinterested roll of his eyes and attempted to engage the dwarf with regards to the writing on the vellum. Preferring his own company, Korgik had brushed off all attempts at enquiries. The boy leant forward and rested his head on the table, hiding his face in the crook of his arm and attempted to disguise his boredom. After a short time, a soft snore betrayed that his boredom had transformed into a doze and one of the men went to nudge the boy awake.

"Leave him," Torih intervened without turning his attention from his blade.

"Young 'un should learn to hold his ale better."

"In time," the elf dismissed the complaint but cast a concerned eye over the lad. "He is still recovering from his Joining."

The same man grunted. "Aye, he's still to wipe the blood from his lip."

"Came round quicker than you did though, Gethin," the second man grinned.

"Ate less too," Korgik snorted, glancing up from his parchment.

"What the fuck would you know, Damon? You were down on the ground with me," Gethin scowled in earnest at the ready treachery of his human comrade before jerking a thumb towards the youngest Warden. "Still don't know what good he would've been."

"Could've carried you, old man," came the muffled rejoinder from the youngster, revealing that he was aware of the conversation going on around him.

The three other Wardens sniggered but Gethin turned and cuffed the back of the lad's head. "Watch your tongue, Ithyal."

Ithyal sat bolt upright, clenching his fists as he prepared to retaliate but a well-timed clearing of the throat from Torih stayed the man's hand. Chastened, the boy channelled his indignation into glowering at the tankard he had pushed to one side.

Turning to the older Warden, Torih cocked an eyebrow. "Lost your sense of humour, Gethin?"

"Shove it up your arse, Second. If we were anywhere else, you'd have let me kick the shit out of him."

The elf chuckled. "I would have allowed you to try."

"Second," Korgik interrupted the bickering and jerked his head toward something which lay over the elf's shoulder.

Torih twisted in his seat so that he could glimpse what had caught the Warden's interest. Cousland's dwarven companion and her Antivan Crow had entered the tavern and, as sparsely filled as the room was, the presence of the Grey Wardens had not escaped their attention either. A brief exchange passed between the pair before the dwarf headed to the back of the tavern where the rooms were. The Crow, however, sauntered over to the Wardens.

"My friend, it is a relief to see you unharmed," he addressed the Second directly. "Your departure from the Pearl was quite the spectacle."

Lounging back in his seat as he turned away from Arainai, Torih sheathed his blade and returned the stone to a pocket. He had no intention of allowing the assassin to goad him into a reaction he would later be ordered to regret.

"I have nothing to say, Crow."

There was soft laughter from behind him. "Ah, but perhaps I have something I wish to say."

He knew that the Antivan was likely baiting him but the suggestion that the assassin may have some piece of information to better understanding the circumstances of Cousland and Theirin was impossible to resist. His Commander's orders had been unequivocal and Torih had witnessed the extent of the dwarf's temper when he was disobeyed but Cousland's story continued to rankle him. He would welcome a corroboration of her detail regarding the healer, for his own state of mind, let alone for the sake of the Order.

Torih waved a hand in the direction of his Wardens as way of dismissal. "Return to the estate."

Korgik carefully folded his piece of vellum before secreting it away while Gethin and Damon hastily tidied the cards and coins between them. Shuffling from the benches, they traipsed towards the doorway in silence, though Ithyal shot a wary look over his shoulder as he walked away. As the Wardens exited the tavern, Gethin elbowed him in the ribs to remind him to keep his attention to his own affairs.

Signalling to the barmaid for a tankard of ale, Arainai settled himself on the bench opposite Torih. He rested his forearms against the edge of the table and studied the Warden with an air of expectation. "Well?"

"You are the one who wished to speak with me."

The assassin gave a broad grin. "Yes, but it is for you to find the question to which I have answers."

Torih rolled his eyes but was not overly taken aback to find that there were additional stipulations to the Crow's apparently loosened tongue. "We have spoken with Cousland."

"I do not believe that is a question."

"Clearly, you are aware of this. You would not have approached me otherwise."

Aranai studied him with a cool gaze while a silence fell between them. As it grew towards being uncomfortable, the barmaid arrived with the ordered ale and the Crow turned his head, sparing a winning smile for the woman.

"The healer," Torih conceded once the woman had left them alone again. "You were with Cousland when the mage healed her injury."

The Antivan swallowed a small sip from his tankard and settled it carefully onto the table. "There have been many injuries over the course of my time with her."

Torih fought to rein in his patience. It was important that he did not allow the Crow to rile him as he had done the other night. "In the Chantry, during the attack on the city, prior to the defeat of the Archdemon."

"I do recall such an event. What of it?"

"What happened?"

"Now, my friend, it cannot be so easy as that."

Torih eyed the assassin, considering the details Cousland had included which he could safely pursue without courting the wrath of his Commander. "Cousland's injuries were severe. Is it true that the mage died as a result of her healing?"

"She died. Whether it was a result of the healing, I do not know."

"You can guess."

The Antivan shook his head, taking another gulp of ale and allowing himself to savour the taste before answering. "There would seem little benefit in doing so. Do you not wish an accurate report?"

"I wish the truth."

"As do I," Arainai pushed aside the tankard and leant across the table, his forefinger beating out the rhythm of his words as he spoke. "Therefore let us not continue with this pretence. Tell me what the Wardens wish from Elissa and Alistair and I will speak plainly."

"And how am I to trust that you will speak honestly?"

"You cannot."

Torih snorted, his gaze drifting away from the Antivan and towards the door where two patrons had made a late entrance. Watching as the pair staggered past the end of their table, Torih reflected on Arainai's brutal honesty. That in itself was an indication that he would be able to have some confidence in what the assassin reported. It was clear that Cousland knew more, or at least suspected more, than she had revealed. And although the casual racism of human nobility held little interest for Torih, he had been hard-pressed to ignore the scandalised gossip which reported that the elven assassin was never far from the right hand of the King. It was clear to all that the Antivan had been granted a significant position in the man's trust.

But Arainai was no fool and Torih could not afford to be caught in a deception by either the Crow or his Commander. The realisation caused him to sigh heavily before he admitted, "I fear that I am unable to offer you the same courtesy."

"Then you must appreciate that I have little else to say," the Antivan shrugged.

The tormenting whispers in his ear that he disregard Argarth entirely began to grow louder and Torih forced himself to his feet, offering the Crow a reluctant nod of acceptance in the process. "Yes."

Not waiting for a reply, Torih left the assassin to his drink and followed in the long-departed footsteps of his Wardens.

* * *

><p>"Unacceptable!"<p>

The slam of the dwarf's fist against the desk punctuated his statement. While Eamon succeeded in controlling his urge to flinch, the aged wood creaked in protest at the misuse. The rattle of the contents of the drawers was accompanied by the grating of wood against stone as Eamon pushed himself up from the chair.

His hands rested flat against the top of the desk as he leant towards the Commander and made a point of lowering his voice so that the dwarf was forced to listen closely. "The process must be handled delicately."

"Pah," Argarth sneered but had the presence of mind to correct the menacing posture he had adopted. Removing his fist from the desk, he took a step backwards and fixed his glare on the Arl in order to placate himself. "So you have been informing me all evening."

Eamon held his tongue. Their discussion had reached a stalemate not long after Alistair had left and with each hour that had passed, the escalation of the Commander's frustration had only accelerated. The ferocity with which the dwarf finally snapped had surprised him but Eamon had nevertheless been preparing himself for it.

An exasperated grunt from the dwarf rewarded Eamon's sudden reticence. Stepping back from the desk, Argarth resumed his pacing and the ferociousness of his steps as they assaulted the floor caused the free-standing bookcases to tremble each time he neared.

With the Commander's attention momentarily distracted, Eamon allowed his arms to fall to his sides as he stretched the ache from his lower back. Maker, he had remained seated for too long. His eyes searched the room for an excuse to move that would not reveal his own discomfort or agitation at the slow progress which had been made. A small tray with an odd assortment of scraps of food lay on a side table near the door where it lay, almost forgotten. The servant had delivered it an hour or so ago with a timid apology and the message that the Arlessa insisted that the Guerrin hospitality should not be found wanting. Both he and the dwarf had tersely acknowledged the message then promptly ignored the offering.

Eamon side-stepped the desk and strode towards the table, making sure to avoid both the Commander and that blasted flagstone in the process. The movement was a welcome sensation to his cramped muscles and eased the tension in his back. Without the ache to distract him, Eamon picked over the off-cuts of salted meat and chunks of bread. He was not overly hungry but the presence of the Orlesian wine, bless his wife, was something to be thankful for. Reaching for a glass, he poured himself a generous amount.

The footfalls continued behind him and Argarth had evidently regained enough of his temper to speak in a more measured tone. "Regardless of how the process should be handled, it is for you to negotiate, Arl. We are only concerned with our Warden."

Eamon smothered a sigh and turned to face the dwarf, glass in hand. "Removing the Hero from Ferelden will only serve to harm both our interests."

This was the point upon which their discussion had grounded to a halt. He did not know how else to communicate the importance of ensuring that Elissa remain in Ferelden, at least for a short while.

Argarth growled, still pacing. The length of his stride increased as he attempted to channel his simmering anger. "You agree to trade Cousland for Theirin yet you dictate what I am permitted to do with her! It seems that I am required to make all the compromises while you reap only the rewards."

Despite himself, Eamon allowed a humourless chuckle to escape. "Nothing is further from the truth, Commander. It would give me no greater satisfaction that to see the Hero removed from Ferelden."

"So what is our issue?" the dwarf snarled.

Eamon swilled the wine round in the glass as he spoke. "I simply wish to ensure that we do not compromise this separation of the Order from the Crown."

The dwarf reached the fireplace and spun on the ball of his foot with a lightness that Eamon would not have expected possible.

"The separation would be served by her recall to Weisshaupt."

Eamon allowed himself a long drink as a way of drowning the various snipes that his ragged patience did not have the strength to resist on its own. On swallowing, he took a deep breath and managed to keep his tone casual, "Commander, you do not seem to appreciate the emotional complexity of the problem we find ourselves faced with."

Argarth snorted as he passed on yet another travel of the room. "First political and now emotional. I am beginning to believe you are not interested in finding a mutual compromise, Arl."

"This is not true, Commander. We have successfully navigated the political issue in that you have permitted Alistair to relinquish his obligations to the Wardens. With the Crown secured, it will not be difficult to convince the nobility that the Hero's place is among her Order where she is better positioned to defend Ferelden." Sensing that Argarth was about to argue, Eamon hastily added, "at least that is what we can argue for the moment. The same cannot be said for Alistair however."

"Then you intend to pander to the boy?" the dwarf sneered over his shoulder.

"Not entirely." Eamon finished the last dregs of his wine and set the glass back on the table behind him. "Alistair can be manipulated with remarkable ease."

"Hardly a warrior's approach."

"If it was a warrior's approach which sent him directly from your debrief to my room then I am thankful it is not."

Argarth pulled up short of the far wall and spun round to face the Arl, fists clenched at his sides.

Rather than encourage a confrontation, Eamon looked away from the dwarf and towards the fireplace on the opposite wall. The flames had died down into glowing embers and he moved towards it, taking up the poker from the hearth and using it to persuade the flames to flare. Satisfied that it would not be smothered, he carefully restocked the grate with fresh wood from the small pile kept to the side of the fireplace.

Standing up, the Arl made a face as he noticed the remnants of soot and ash on his hands. He turned back to the desk, careful to avoid contact with his clothes, and rummaged around in the drawers for a scrap of cloth.

With his attention legitimately focused on his search, Eamon was able to continue the conversation without apparently seeking to aggravate the Commander. "We cannot discount the strength of feeling they appear to have for one another."

There was a pause during which he imagined the dwarf was struggling to reign in his temper. Eventually though, there was a flat-toned response. "I think you are simplifying things. Even their separate accounts suggest more than a passing infatuation."

At the back of one of the drawers, Eamon spied a scrunched rag of linen that he used for ink spills. Sighing with relief, he seized it, understanding that it also reflected his realisation that he may have finally succeeding in accurately communicating the problem that the dwarf was still to appreciate. "So you acknowledge that there is an emotional aspect between the two which should be considered?"

"I acknowledge that you believe that it is important to our considerations," Argarth conceded with a heavy sigh.

"I do not doubt that they care for one another but I believe that their circumstances over the last year have accelerated that attraction more than anything else," Eamon wiped his hands on the cloth before looking up at Argarth. "We must tread carefully to ensure that we do not perpetuate the idea that they are continuing to strive against some impossible odds."

"Odds which you believe are reinforced by Cousland's removal from Ferelden?" The dwarf neared the desk with a cautious step.

Eamon nodded. "Yes."

"Surely you are not suggesting that their betrothal stand?"

"No, absolutely not," the Arl dropped the cloth onto the table with a firm shake of his head. "We wish to remove any links between the Grey Wardens and Fereldan Crown. Their betrothal stands in the way of this."

"At last, a point we can agree on."

"However, it is important that we orchestrate a balance. They must believe that there is a chance for reconciliation to ensure their initial compliance."

The dwarf now stood opposite Eamon, his arms folded across his chest as he eyed the man with a faint suspicion. "Arl, I have little talent for schemes. Speak plainly."

"Perhaps it would be more appropriate to suggest how difficult their betrothal makes the situation."

Argarth grunted in disbelief. "You intend to use the truth?"

"Why not?" Eamon pushed his argument with a renewed earnestness. "They are aware of the concerns you have already expressed regarding their oaths. It will not be surprising that compromises have to be made. Certain elements of the truth could be used to separate them."

The Commander shook his head and turned away from the desk. He spoke over his shoulder as he succumbed to the temptation of food and wine, "while obscuring other elements would help to hide the extent of your part in this."

"And yours. You have met with her and she has clearly satisfied whatever conditions you had set for her. You are not without blemish, Commander."

"So it would seem," a resigned chuckle greeted the Arl's observation. "Though I do not believe my involvement will be greeted with quite the same response as yours."

"As you say, that is for me to negotiate," Eamon dismissed the sly attempt at provocation. Resting his hands against the back of the chair, he watched as the dwarf chewed on one of the lumps of bread. "What remains important is that we recognise the value of their betrothal."

Mouth full, Argarth settled for waving a hand by way of agreeing with the point.

"You have need of a Warden-Commander, do you not?"

The question hung in the air but Argarth made no attempt to acknowledge it. Instead he reached for the second glass and poured his own generous amount of wine from the bottle. His deliberate avoidance of the question riled Eamon.

"She is the Hero!"

The dwarf threw his head back and downed the full contents of his glass. The Arl heard a loud swallow and then a muttered, "I have told you, this title is irrelevant to us."

Tightly gripping the back of the chair, Eamon simmered. "Perhaps the First Warden will have a less short-sighted outlook."

"I believe I have also told you not to make empty threats, Arl," Argarth turned to face the man with a thin smile. "The First is concerned with his own affairs and rarely turns his attention from the Anderfels. Besides, did you not wish for a prompt resolution? I am unwilling to wait months if not years for this to be resolved but if necessary, I can. Can you claim the same?"

A small growl escaped from Eamon but he managed to bite down on his lip and smother the remainder of the sound.

"I did not think so," Argarth smirked, enjoying the upper hand. After a few moments however, he surrendered his advantage and rubbed at his temples. "However, if I have followed your argument correctly, then you would eventually wish that Cousland be removed from Ferelden entirely, yes?"

"Once Alistair has begun to turn his attentions to a more suitable match, yes," Eamon replied guardedly.

"I must tell you that I would wish to have Cousland recalled sooner than this," the dwarf grumbled but seeing Eamon about to argue, he waved away the protest and returned to his pacing. "Do not despair, Arl. I will make other arrangements. My point though, is that if I were to grant Cousland the title you so desire for her," there was a small yet derisive snort, "then she would likely remain in Ferelden until her death or Calling, whichever comes first."

"Their betrothal is worth more than simply her place among the Wardens."

"A place countless others have died for," the dwarf snapped as his temper caught the better of him.

"I meant no offence."

Argarth completed his length of the room and twisted round, settling into his stride again. Ignoring the apology, he continued, "but I understand the concept of trade. You wish to trade their betrothal for positions of power. My suggestion for Cousland is that of Second."

"To you as Commander?"

A short burst of laughter erupted from the dwarf. "I do not seek removal from Orlais, Arl."

"Then who do you intend as Commander?"

"My Second is capable."

Eamon felt his lip curl and his fingers tightened further around the chair. "I have heard unfavourable reports about your Second."

"And I have heard unfavourable things about your Hero," Argarth rebuked the man though he did not seem especially disturbed by the comment. "It is true that there are those within my ranks who would be suitable for the role but it would take time to seek the appropriate alternative. I am not adverse to such a summons but I will not leave Cousland as acting Commander and you protest at my taking her across the border. Therefore Torih is the solution." The dwarf halted so that he could meet the stare of the man with his own steady gaze. "This is my offer."

Conflicted between his need to accept and the gut instinct that it was a poor offer, the Arl hesitated.

"Of course, I would not need to find an alternative if Theirin were to..."

It was a blatant attempt at needling him but Eamon still interrupted the dwarf. The Commander's agreement to allow Alistair to take the throne was simply not worth interfering with, even as a transparent means of negotiating a more satisfactory arrangement for the Hero. "Elissa could still be removed when it becomes appropriate if she is a Second?"

"Her high-profile presence will be of use to us while we rebuild the Order within these borders but yes, it would not be unusual for a Second to be summoned elsewhere in the course of their duties."

"So we could suggest that she is intended for greater things if she is allowed to pursue her life in the Order?"

Argarth sniffed, diverting the course of his pacing back towards the tray. "You may suggest it."

"This would seem workable, Commander."

"Not entirely," the dwarf shook his head and, distracted from the food by the Arl's remark, looked back towards the man. "There is still the issue of where the Order should be rebuilt. Soldier's Peak has traditionally been the stronghold of the Wardens in Ferelden but it would not be my first choice as a location to begin to rebuild."

"Too close," Eamon murmured, considering the geography of the country. "What of Ostagar?"

"The Tevinter ruin?" Argarth frowned. "It was ruined before the battle and I can only imagine the extent of the damage it sustained during the fight as well as in the aftermath."

"There are few who have seen it. The presence of the darkspawn were a suitable deterrent for returning to it but areas of it may be salvageable."

"The darkspawn will be retreating," the Commander muttered, folding his arms across his chest as he appeared to forget the tray behind him. "It is possible we could reclaim the site for our own use." He glanced up at Eamon. "And it would suit your desire to have her close yet far."

A surge of relief flooded through Eamon as the arrangements came into a clearer focus. "Plus there is little of interest towards the south which could be used as an excuse for Alistair's presence there either."

"I can promise nothing until I have seen it for myself," Argarth sensed the change in the Arl and reverted to a practical cautiousness. "It may be destroyed beyond repair. Though it is true that an expedition to Ostagar would be useful as a means of further assessing Cousland's skill."

"It would also serve to herald our announcement that she is to remain in the Order," Eamon overlooked the potential problem of Ostagar being unsustainable as a base. It was something which could be addressed at a later date if necessary. He would simply pray that it would not be necessary. "And offer a natural beginning to their separation."

"When do you intend to make this announcement?"

"I suggest that we speak with them as soon as possible but the public announcement can be made at his coronation. It could also be emphasised by dressing the Hero in the insignia of the Grey Wardens."

"Very well. I can provide the necessary details for the tailors and smiths if you wish. It may also be fitting to have Torih dressed appropriately if he is to take his place as Commander."

"Excellent," Eamon took a deep breath. The weight across his shoulders eased a fraction though the thought of the convoluted manner in which he would need to manage the agreement prevented him from fully relaxing. "I suggest that we broach this with both of them as soon as possible. There are still some details I must discuss with Alistair but those can be completed within a matter of hours."

"Then tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yes."

"I will make arrangements to leave for Ostagar the day after."

Eamon made to offer whatever services his estate could provide in order to better assist the preparations but he was interrupted by a rapid knocking at the door. There was only the briefest hesitation and then it was pushed open to reveal an agitated Isolde.

Upon seeing Argarth standing to one side of the doorway, she gave a start and her gaze flicked between Eamon and the dwarf. "My apologies, Commander. I thought my husband was alone."

Argarth bowed towards her and gestured in the direction of the Arl, stepping away from the doorway so that he did not provide an obstacle between the couple. "Please continue, Arlessa."

She acknowledged the mark of respect before approaching the desk. With Argarth safely at her back, she shot Eamon a pointed look which was clearly intended to communicate the request that the Commander be dismissed.

Eyeing his wife, Eamon recognised the signs of an impending performance: her cheeks were flushed, her bottom lip was bitten and her usual insistence for etiquette had been intentionally mislaid. Maker, he loved the woman but he did not have his usual reserves of patience to suffer her theatrics this evening.

"What is it, my dear?"

"It is Alistair," she hissed at him.

He glanced over her shoulder towards Argarth. Surely the boy could not have prompted such a disaster in only a handful of hours, no matter how long and drawn out those hours had felt to Eamon. The Commander had overheard the hiss, despite Isolde's best intentions, and his brows were drawn into a frown as he took a few steps towards them.

"Speak freely, Isolde," Eamon ordered.

She scowled, unimpressed that her request had been ignored but not so distracted from propriety as to insist on it. "He is not in his room. Some weapons were left after their gathering so I instructed one of the servants to deliver them to his room. He was not there."

"He is missing?"

"No." Her nose wrinkled in distaste and her voice lowered as she confided, "I have been informed that he has returned with the Hero..." She trailed off as she allowed the suggestiveness to speak for itself.

There was a small silence before Argarth gave a gruff laugh.

"This is all?"

Outraged, she whirled round to face the Commander. "Is it not enough?"

He eyed the woman in open amusement before his gaze flickered across to Eamon, clearly expecting that the Arl would be in agreement that of all the issues which presented themselves with regards to the King and Hero, this was one of the more irrelevant.

Eamon raised one hand from the back of the chair and rubbed at his temple with forefinger and thumb. "I discussed this matter with him only this morning."

"I was told that they had separate rooms!" Twisting back round to address her husband, Isolde was the picture of indignant dismay at the thought that such disgrace had occurred in her household.

Removing his hand, the Arl shot a glare towards his wife. He would have more readily accepted her performance had it not been for the small detail, of which they were both well aware, that it had been she who had informed him that Alistair's bed was yet to be slept in. Clearly, this feigned offence was entirely for the Commander's benefit.

"Yes, dear," he managed through gritted teeth. "Separate rooms have been provided."

"Do as you see fit, Arl," Argarth interrupted with a shrug. "However, to separate them prematurely cannot be advisable. You know that this issue will resolve itself shortly."

Isolde summoned a small wail. "Eamon, you cannot truly intend to overlook this behaviour!"

Eamon conducted a brief search for the part of him which should be suitably offended by Alistair's lack of respect for either restraint or advice but on locating that part, he found that it was just as weary as the rest of him. Before he could summon the energy to explain this to Isolde however, Argarth spoke up.

"You have my opinion but I will respect your judgement," there was a smirk on the Commander's face as he bowed towards the Arl. "Send for me when you are ready to speak tomorrow."

"Thank you, Commander," Eamon nodded.

The door had barely closed behind the dwarf when Isolde rounded on her husband, ready to unleash a tirade against him but Eamon shook his head in anticipation of her rebuke. He was just too damned tired.

"If it truly offends you so much, my dear, then you deal with it."

* * *

><p>Approaching the gates to the Guerrin estate, Torih found that his arrival provoked a flurry of activity from the guardsmen. His hand crept towards the small hidden blade at his side as two of the guards marched towards him. While none save for those drunken fools had threatened him, the elf was well aware of the discontent which was being levelled at the Orlesian Grey Wardens as a result of the rumours which abounded. The revelation that the Orlesian Warden-Commander had spoken privately with both King and Hero, coupled with his own questioning of relevant persons, had spread throughout the city but it was inside the walls of the estate where he felt most vulnerable.<p>

"Grey Warden," one addressed him gruffly through his helm.

"Yes."

"Your Commander has sent word that you are to report to him immediately. He is to be found in his room."

Torih grunted his acknowledgement of the message. Side stepping the pair who made no effort of their own to move out of his way, he continued through the courtyard and up the staircase to the main door. The main hallway was brightly lit but as he navigated through the hallways and staircases to the upper floors, the number of candles and lanterns diminished until he was simply wandering between pinpricks of light from the irregularly placed candles rather than walking with any real purpose.

Reaching the hallway which led to the rooms set aside for the Grey Wardens, Torih skulked past the first door, sensing that it was empty. The one next to it however, had both a welcoming sliver of light creeping from beneath the door as well as the scratching beacon of a taint. He crossed towards it and, not stopping to knock, entered into the room.

At his entrance, Argarth placed the sheet of vellum he had been reading back down on the make-shift desk but remained seated. "Ah, Torih."

"I take it that you have reached an agreement with the Arl?" the elf threw over his shoulder as he turned to shut the door behind him.

"Yes. More than one, in fact."

With the door firmly closed, Torih turned and moved nearer the centre of the room so that he could address Argarth straight on. "What else was there to agree aside from the exchange of Theirin for Cousland?"

The dwarf gave derisive snort. "That was only the beginning. But it is finally agreed and there is one especially pressing matter which I wish to discuss with you."

"Oh?"

"You are to undertake the role of Warden-Commander in Ferelden, effective immediately."

Torih remained resolutely still while he stared at the dwarf. "How does this advance our own agenda, Commander? We are still to uncover the reason behind Cousland's survival. I do not understand why my undertaking of this role is necessary."

"I will explain this further tomorrow. I simply wished to inform you of my decision prior to the arranged meeting with Theirin and Cousland."

A frown developed into a deep-set scowl on the elf's face as he took a step closer to the desk. "I would request that you do not do this, Commander. I have no wish to..."

"You will go where you are ordered," the dwarf cut him off. "It is imperative that a Warden-Commander is appointed in Ferelden and you are the only option."

"The only option is not necessarily the most appropriate."

Argarth chuckled drily. "Modesty is an odd trait to develop at this time, Torih."

"We both know that I am not a suitable candidate..."

"Enough, Torih," the dwarf interrupted him with a snarl, pushing back the chair and rising to his feet. "You are well aware of the duties which must be completed by a Warden-Commander and for the moment, that is sufficient."

The elf lowered his gaze and retreated a few steps at the sign of the Commander's irritation but he could not prevent his teeth from grinding together as his jaw clenched.

A heavy sigh greeted the telltale sound. "Torih, if necessary then I will search out another Warden to take this role but it will take time. I doubt that you will wish to relinquish your authority once you have become accustomed to it."

"Authority over what? A blighted country and a deserter?" the elf muttered mutinously.

"Speaking of which, I would ask that you become familiar with Cousland. She will be your Second."

Even with head bowed and mouth clamped shut, Torih still successfully radiated a poorly-checked fury at the announcement.

"Enough." Argarth curtly deflected the silent protestation. The rustle of the vellum as the sheets on the desk were gathered together signalled that the dwarf considered the subject definitively dealt with.

Unwilling to rebel against the assumption of his Commander, Torih forced his chin up from where it had rested against his chest and focused on the dwarf with what he intended to be a collected expression.

The movement, fractional as it was, caught Argarth's eye and he glanced up from his papers. He studied the elf for a brief moment before shaking his head and returning his attention to tidying the table top. "If the rumours of the extent of her temper are to be believed then she will prove capable of withstanding yours. That in itself is a rare trait, Torih."

The elf simmered but kept his voice level as he asked, "what is to be expected during my time here?"

"You will be required to rebuild the Order within Ferelden while seeing to the eradication of the darkspawn during the Thaw."

"I am to surround myself with Fereldan recruits whose first loyalty will be to their Hero rather than their Commander?"

"This is a fair concern," Argarth acknowledged as he finished bundling the vellum together. He gestured towards the small leather pack which lay open on the bed and Torih obediently fetched it, passing the pack to the Commander without comment. "I will ensure that there is a regular flow of Orlesian Wardens sent to you however the majority of your ranks must be taken from Ferelden."

Returning to his position in the centre of the room, Torih forced himself to take a breath before he attempted one last appeal to what he could see as the only rational solution. "It would see more appropriate that you remain here to fulfil the role, Commander."

Stowing the papers away in the pack, Argarth buckled the flap shut with a grunt. "You said yourself, a blighted country and a deserter. Why would I wish to surrender my position in Orlais?" He glanced towards the elf. "This is what has been agreed and I will not tolerate any further protest."

Even as it riled against his better judgement, Torih responded to the authority of the dwarf and offered a submissive nod. "Yes, Commander."

"There are further details which I will need to discuss with you but they can wait until morning," Argarth passed in front of the elf en-route to replacing the pack in a chest which sat in the corner of the room. "But for now, you are dismissed... Warden-Commander."

The dwarf was clearly reaping some perverse pleasure from the situation but with the limited recourse available to him, Torih could only choke back the frustrated bitterness that threatened to suffocate him. "As you wish."

* * *

><p><em>Many thanks to <em>_**EasternViolet**__ for her work on this chapter especially with regards to my sudden and inexplicable desire to hyphenate as many words as I could.  
>As ever, thank you for reading!<em>


	37. Plans Afoot

The early dawn light gilded the highest roofs while the streets remained in a murky twilight. But while the crooked wynds awaited the cleansing effect of another day during which a little more of the city would be reclaimed and rebuilt, the marketplace was already filled with the bustle of traders preparing their stalls.

Keeping close to the various buildings at the edge of the marketplace as he made his way towards the Guerrin estate, Zevran was intent on skirting around the throng of people when an aroma filled his nostrils and caught his attention. Following his nose, his gaze settled on a small wagon which had been pulled up to one side of the small circle of stalls permanently pitched in the centre of the marketplace. There were a handful of crates on the wagon and each had been prised open in order for the merchant to rummage through the goods so that he could select the most saleable items for his stall. On the side of each was a range of symbols that bore no relevance to Zevran save for the tantalising scent of what he could only describe as _home_ which seemed to drift across and immerse him in memories. As he approached the wagon, his eye sought out the familiar seal of Antiva City which had been painted on each of the crates and helped to confirm what his nose had already told him.

A young boy was scurrying between wagon and stall, under instruction from his master who spoke with a recognisable accent. True enough, Elissa had once mentioned that there was an Antivan trader in Denerim but they had never ventured upon him on the occasions the elf had accompanied her. Zevran dodged around the remainder of the milling traders and came up behind the man. A quick glance over the goods revealed little of real interest but the sight, sound and smell of Antiva was enough to remind the elf that he had never quite repressed the tingling sense which told him that he was a stranger in this place.

Catching sight of the boy throwing a curious glance over his shoulder, the merchant spun round and came nose to nose with Zevran. "Ah, the Hero's companion. How may I help you, Ser?"

"I am simply looking. I am surprised to see a shipment from Antiva so soon after the siege."

"As am I. I did not believe that the Archdemon would attack so soon."

"Then I am gratified we could oblige you in our timely defeat of the dragon, my friend," Zevran remarked drily.

"It was quite fortunate, yes."

The elf chuckled. "In that case, let me help you further. Have you any leather?"

"Alas, no. I find that it is not appreciated as it should be within this land," the man shook his head with an air of regret.

"A pity."

Turning from Zevran, the merchant barked an instruction to the boy who raced to one of the middle crates on the wagon. He stood on tiptoe as he leaned into the crate and the clink of glass revealed that he was searching for something. After a few moments, the boy straightened and held up a triangular shaped bottle filled with a ruby red liquid towards the man as means of seeking approval.

"_Braska_," the man spat. "No, the other."

Returning his attention back to the crate, the boy delved back in and his feet lifted into the air as he teetered on his stomach over the side of the box. A small grunt and a thud announced that he had retrieved whatever the merchant had indicated and he righted himself once more. As he offered up a small misshapen bottle filled with an amber liquid, the weak dawn light filtered through and highlighted the lack of impurities within it.

The merchant nodded and indicated that the boy should bring it down in order for Zevran to examine it further.

"It is not leather but it may still be of interest to you."

"Indeed," Zevran conceded, accepting the bottle from the youngster and turning it over in his hands. "Though it does not bear the validation mark which would permit you to find a legal purchaser."

"Does such a thing concern you greatly?"

"It is not my livelihood at risk, my friend. How much?"

"For a fellow Antivan, two sovereigns."

"One sovereign and thirty silver."

"One and fifty."

"Done," Zevran handed the bottle to the merchant as he searched for the appropriate amount of coin. "And if I should wish to view more of your goods?"

"I can be found here or at my warehouse near the docks. Ask for Ignacio."

Passing the man his coin, Zevran reclaimed the bottle and bowed with murmured thanks. He turned from the merchant and pushed through the small crowd that still surrounded the various stalls, heading once more for the Arl's estate.

His approach was greeted with a customary nod from the guards at the gates and he returned the sign of recognition with a nod of his own. Passing through the deserted courtyard, he continued up the outer staircase towards the main entrance. Entering into the building, he readied himself to acknowledge another guard but found the post abandoned. The sound of a heated discussion floated through from one of the anterooms nearby.

Secreting his bottle in an alcove, Zevran stole towards the doorway of the room. It was halfway closed as though someone, he presumed the guard, had attempted to leave but had been summoned back into the room. Unable to recognise either of the voices but still hidden by the door, his attention turned to Liahn who was standing in the far corner of the room. Her hands were clasped in front of her and her head bowed as though she was attending a service in the Chantry. For all Zevran knew, perhaps she was praying but the deliberate manner in which she avoided courting any attention from either of the men hinted at the presence of a templar.

Behind the door, the argument continued on but the exchange had deteriorated past the point of any useful information and had become rooted in a stalemate. From the terseness of the clipped responses of one man, compared to the mounting aggression in the other's voice, Zevran guessed that there was also an issue of rank between the two, despite their different Orders.

The sensation of his stare boring into her must have triggered Liahn's sixth sense because her head lifted ever so slightly as she sneaked a glance towards the doorway. Spying Zevran, her eyes widened and her skin paled before she jerked her head back down to continue staring resolutely at the floor.

A clink of armour and thud of footfall revealed that the templar had noticed his charge's change in demeanour and crossed the room in order to root out the cause. Before the man could reach the door, Zevran breezed into the room with all the arrogance befitting an Antivan Crow who also happened to be a close companion of the Hero of Ferelden.

"Messeres," he greeted the pair with a winning smile. "Is there something I can help with?"

Seeing the man in front of him, Zevran recognised Knight-Captain Joal and swallowed a curse. Oghren had delighted in retelling the reaction of the Templar-Captain to Alistair's interference during the army's return to Denerim. And even with the defeat of the Archdemon, Zevran had continued to hear snippets of gossip which suggested that the Captain had still not forgotten let alone forgiven being so openly undermined. It had been one of the reasons that the elf had preferred to approach the other templars when requesting the assistance of the mages rather than deal with the Captain directly.

"I wish to speak with the Hero," the templar snarled as he advanced on the elf.

Zevran eyed the Captain who was taking full advantage of the difference between their heights in an attempt to intimidate him. Not giving the man the satisfaction of surrendering his position by even one footstep, Zevran leant to one side in order to address the guard.

"Has the Hero been informed?"

"The Arl left orders that neither the Hero nor the King were to be disturbed," the guard shook his head, folding his arms across his chest as he fixed a glare on the back of the templar's head. "I offered to send word to the Arl but he would not permit me to do so."

"I have no interest in speaking with the Arl!" Joal spat over his shoulder before turning back to Zevran. "Fetch the Hero to me."

Behind the Captain, the guardsman went to protest but holding up a hand towards the man, Zevran signalled that he was to keep his peace for the moment. Acknowledging the authority of the elf in this particular matter, the guard gave a begrudging nod.

Turning his attention back to Joal, the Zevran shook his head slightly in response to the templar's demand. "If I were to do so then I would wish to know what it is you desire from her."

"It is of no business of yours," the Captain sneered, stabbing a finger against the elf's chest.

"I do not pretend otherwise but I am permitted to speak directly with the Hero. Surely that is more useful to you than arguing with the Arl's guard?"

The Captain stepped back and eyed the elf with an ill-concealed disdain which Zevran decided, for the man's own sake, not to take personally.

"Tell the Hero," Joal began slowly, his eyes narrowed, "that I will not be issued orders via a mere mage. Tell the Hero," his voice deepened into a growl and he made to stab another finger against Zevran but seemed to think better of it. Instead, the arm fell to his side and he clenched his fists. "Tell her that she has overstepped her boundaries in assuming that she may do as she pleases with the Circle of Magi!"

Taken aback, Zevran frowned in genuine bewilderment. "My friend, I cannot believe that the Hero would have made such an assumption. What has occurred for you to believe it is so?"

"She," the templar jerked his head towards Liahn, "reported that the Hero ordered that the Bard should be taken back to Kinloch Hold for further healing. I refuse to..."

"Ah," Zevran interrupted, projecting an air of understanding even as his mind raced to make sense of the snippets of information being presented to him. He turned away from Joal and approached Liahn, speaking over his shoulder as he did so. "It is as I thought. The message has been wrongly conveyed, Captain. I assure you that the Hero would not issue such an order. My dear," with his back still to the templar and guard, he fixed a cold stare on the mage, "are you certain that the Hero made this order? Perhaps she merely requested that you broach the subject with the Captain?"

Liahn met his stare without flinching but after a few moments, her gaze flitted to the Captain and she nodded. "Yes, I believe so. I must have misunderstood."

"A simple misunderstanding, Ser." Nearing Liahn's side, Zevran spun round to face the templar again.

Joal bristled and a scowl deepened on his face before he began to advance on the mage. "You thought to humiliate me?"

The elf hastily positioned himself between the two. "Such a thing is not unexpected, no? Being accustomed to the discipline of the Circle, I am certain that the girl did not realise that the Hero intended the remark as a question rather than an order."

The remark did not prevent the templar from glowering at both Zevran and Liahn but he did come to a halt a few strides from them. "Perhaps."

"There is no harm done, Ser. The Hero herself would have realised the oversight herself and reassured you that any offence was unintended," Zevran continued to soothe the man. "However it does seem that there is much for you and the Hero to discuss therefore I have a proposal for you, my friend."

Moving away from Liahn, the elf indicated that the guard could resume his position at the door. The man hesitated as though disappointed not to witness how this altercation was to play out but crossed his arms in front of his chest and strode out.

The Captain ignored the man and continued to eye Zevran with a faint suspicion.

"I shall speak directly with the Hero and inform her that you wish to speak with her urgently. In the meantime, I suggest that you return to the Chantry and continue with your duties. I will deliver the Hero's response to you myself." The elf gestured towards Liahn. "Leave the healer and she can continue with her care of Leliana without interruption."

Seemingly unconvinced and with his rage still simmering just below the surface, Joal glanced between the two. Finally, he focused his glare back on Zevran and snapped, "tell the Hero that I do not intend to agree to this request unless it is made in person."

"I understand," Zevran acknowledged. "Now, may I escort Liahn to the Bard's room? I will make enquires about the Hero once I have done so."

The Captain gave a brusque nod.

With her eyes still cast to the floor, Liahn moved from behind Zevran to his side. The elf took the opportunity to grasp the mage by her elbow and steered her towards the door. Moving through the doorway and out into the hall, Zevran caught the eye of the guardsman who had resumed his post and gave a small nod in the hope the guard would respect the temporary peace which had been brokered. As they both headed across the entrance hallway, Zevran continued to feel the tingling sensation of the Knight-Captain's stare as the templar watched their progress towards the stairs. It was only when Liahn led the way up the stairway and the curve of the wall blocked the intensity of the man's gaze that Zevran permitted himself to relax. The relief of the mage was also evident as she let out a deep breath.

Allowing her the time it took to reach the second floor to gather her wits, Zevran waited until they stepped out into the hallway before he tightened his grip. As she felt his fingertips begin to tighten however, Liahn squirmed and tried to wrench her arm free from his grasp.

"Be still," he hissed, pulling her round to face him so that he stood nose to nose with the woman.

"Let me go!"

"I do not intend to harm you but I suggest that you tell me what your Knight-Captain speak of," Zevran flashed a humourless smile. "And may I also suggest that you speak swiftly."

* * *

><p>The sudden sharp pain of an elbow digging into his ribs dragged Alistair from the soothing sanctuary of the Fade and he let out a small groan of protest as his eye lids flew open before scrunching closed in denial. The dig against his flesh was repeated however, swifter and sharper this time and accompanied by a muffled grunt.<p>

With less of a rude awakening, he may have taken some satisfaction from the fact that Elissa, who usually rose with the lark, was content to remain in bed, even as she pestered him to leave it. At least, that's what he imagined the objective of her unprovoked aggression was. Yet following on from that understanding came the horrifying realisation that she expected him to abandon the cocoon of warmth which their entwined bodies had generated beneath the bedcovers in favour of the early morning chill which permeated the room.

As though she could hear the workings of his befuddled mind, Elissa prodded him again though this time, she chose to emphasise her intent with a mumbled, "up."

His eyelids still closed, Alistair convinced himself that if only he could still her arm then she would understand that he had no intention of leaving the bed, especially not as this Maker-forsaken hour, and she would leave him in peace. With that notion firmly in place, he curled himself closer around her and clamped his arm over hers.

He winced as her heel connected sharply with his shin in response to what, he had been led to believe, most other women would have taken as a comforting gesture.

"Up! Eamon!"

The mention of the man was the last straw. Muttering choice curses beneath his breath, Alistair rolled onto his back and finally cracked open an eye as he built up his courage to confront the day. What was it about mornings that made it so difficult to get up? He was certain that if only mornings could somehow be made more agreeable then the world would be a much better place.

Elissa's growing restlessness told him that he was not moving quickly enough for her liking. Silently, he added that more agreeable mornings might also make for a much more even-tempered world and more specifically, the world which was in direct contact with Elissa. She may have been an early riser but her temper was certainly not.

Aware that any additional procrastination would risk further bodily harm, Alistair threw back the blankets, shuddering as the cool air stripped his naked body of any residual heat, and eased himself from the bed. Stifling a sharp intake of breath as his feet rested against the flagstones, he forced himself to stand. Not wishing to court further displeasure from Elissa, he repositioned the blankets so that she would not feel the draught at her back from his absence. Before he could turn fully however, she had already rolled herself into the warm space his body had left and had pulled the blankets up around her chin.

Resisting the urge to drag the covers from the bed and stuff them out the damned window, Alistair contented himself with embellishing his earlier curses, keeping what would surely be the more objectionable observations to a low grumble. His voice trailed off as he cast a look around the room. The sight of the scattered clothes decorating the floor in front of him eased his sulk and a lecherous grin surfaced on his face.

Steeling himself against the cold, he padded towards the door where he had spied his breeches. Maker help him, they couldn't be more than three steps from the door. The woman had wasted little time. Or maybe that had been him. Oh, who cared; the end result had been the same. Catching sight of his small clothes en-route towards his breeches, he pulled both items on before hunting around for his socks. One lay at the side of the bed and after a few more minutes searching, he found the other still wedged in one of his boots. The second boot had been cast aside towards the far side of the room and he retrieved it, hopping about for a moment as he pulled it on. With the lower half of his body fully dressed, he glanced around for his shirt. His jerkin lay in a crumpled heap near the wardrobe but the shirt itself was nowhere to be seen. Alistair frowned, trying to remember through the heat-filled haze which had engulfed the better part of his faculties as to who had removed what. She had. Definitely. What in Andraste's name had she done with it?

He stole a glance towards Elissa who remained curled beneath the sheets. She had turned over while he had been dressing and now faced him, though her eyes remained closed. It was a rare occasion to look at her and see an outer stillness reflected inwards. She had forever been a bustling source of energy and while he now understood that it was as a result of her need to project an identity she felt she needed to uphold, it did not detract from that fact that her mind had always been flying through scenarios and situations which could all lead towards the outcome she had already decided upon. As likely as he was to throttle her if she ever expected him to find an answer to an impossible question again– Andraste herself would not have convinced her about the Fade, had Elissa not wanted to be convinced – the fact that she had succeeded in simply thinking herself into such a state, was reassuringly familiar. He chose to take it as proof that she was beginning to heal, inside as well as out.

All of which made the fact that she currently resembled the embodiment of serenity even more damning.

"Where is it?" he demanded, the inflection of the question giving way to a disapproving growl.

"Where's what?"

Approaching the bed, he noticed a telltale scrap of white linen just beneath her chin. She had his shirt clutched against her chest beneath the covers. How had she managed to sneak it?

With a soft laugh that helped to banish the last of his irritability, Alistair reached out and pushed the covers back a little. "Love."

Sensing that the game was up, she opened her eyes and directed a rueful smile up towards him. "You got me. Can't blame a girl for trying though."

"Trying what exactly?" he prised the shirt from her grasp. "You were the one insisting that I get out of bed. I'd much rather have stayed, you know."

"You need to go and be Kingly."

Pulling the shirt over his head, Alistair snorted. "I'm sure I could do that from bed. How hard could it be?"

"Then do it from your own. This is my bed and I don't want people traipsing in and out while I'm trying to sleep," Elissa pulled the blankets closer around her as she struggled up into a sitting position.

"I can't help but feel you're giving me mixed signals here," he said over his shoulder as he retrieved his jerkin from the floor.

She laughed though it developed into a yawn. "So, what are your plans for today?"

"I promised that I would speak with Eamon. Plus we need to find out what the Commander discussed with him. Hopefully it's good news."

Turning to face her, he noticed her shoulders hunching momentarily at the mention of the Warden-Commander though as she caught his eye, she offered him a wan smile. "Hopefully."

"Well, if it's bad news then it's simple," he allowed himself to succumb to the doe-eyes she was so expertly directing at him and crossed the room in order to perch on the bed beside her. He curled an arm around her bare shoulders and pulled her close. "We tell them that they have to go and have another think until they come up with a more reasonable option."

A small giggle escaped from her. "Of course, how stupid of me. Why didn't we do that already?"

"You've been a bit off lately. Anyway, we all know I'm the one with the bright ideas around here."

"Yes, love."

The small shudder that ran through her as she stifled her laughter made him grin. Another moment of self-depreciation was worth it if it meant that it lightened her mood.

But the light-heartedness subsided as Elissa fixed a look on him, her hand moving so that it rested against his leg. "What about Leliana?"

"We can speak to her later, after I've spoken with Eamon."

"I can do it."

"No, it's not for you to worry about on your own."

Her hand tightened as she shook his leg slightly. "You have to let me help, Alistair."

"Oh, like you let me help you?"

"I'm not trying to undermine you."

There was an implicit meaning in the statement which caused him to hesitate. Her pride was not something that he was unaware of but he had to question why, after all that had happened, she was struggling to relinquish her undisputed position. It was as though discovering that he was capable was as much a threat to her state of mind as his dependency on her had been.

"And I would never have tried to undermine you."

A small flush swept across her face as she reflected on the fact that she had revealed more than she had likely intended. "I know, love. I didn't mean..."

Alistair waited for her to finish but her mouth moved wordlessly while she floundered for an explanation. So that was what it looked like when someone avoided answering uncomfortable questions. He hoped he had given a better performance when she had first confronted him about his birthright.

"It's not that, anyway," Alistair offered her a reprieve, at last.

Elissa accepted it gratefully, closing her mouth and cocking an eyebrow in silent question.

"I'll take as much help as anyone is willing to offer me," he smiled with a resigned air. "But you don't know how to stop helping. Can I trust you not to take too much on?"

"This is different. It's Leliana. I can handle her."

"Yes but she can handle you too and that's what worries me," he sighed as his arm fell from her shoulder. "Besides, you told me that Argarth wanted to speak to you again today."

"That was before he went to see Eamon though. I doubt he will speak to me if he and the Arl have already agreed something. And if you're speaking with Eamon then I'll just be sitting here doing nothing and I'll start getting in my own head again."

"Love, it's too much to expect from you right now."

She removed her hand from his leg as she crossed her arms with an impatient sigh. "Then just what am I permitted to do, Your Majesty?"

It was fortunate for her that his temper was not as easy to rile as her own despite her best childish efforts.

"Well," he began slowly, as though deep in thought, "I suppose I could ask Isolde to come and spend some time with you."

"Isolde?" she echoed, her nose wrinkling.

"She could talk to you about all those wifely duties I'll expect you to fulfil. My household isn't going to run itself after all."

The atmosphere between them noticeably cooled.

"No?" he enquired, innocently.

She forewent a verbal response in favour of fixing an icy glare on him. Apparently her sense of humour, much like her even-temper, was also still to awaken.

Alistair snorted. "I'm teasing, love."

"You better be."

There was a mutinous edge to her voice which warned him how close he was to the line but having already ventured towards it, he was unable to resist edging a little nearer.

A mischievous smile curved the corners of his mouth. "Or what?"

"I'm not sure but it will be painful."

"Sounds intriguing."

"Only if they ever find your body," she sniffed. "And I know an Antivan Crow. So how likely do you think that'll be?"

Alistair manipulated his features into a scowl. "I'm sure it's considered high treason to threaten the King."

Twisting round, Elissa snatched at the pillow behind her and swung it towards him. Laughing, he deflected the blow with a raised forearm.

Raising the pillow behind her again in mock-threat, she attempted to fix another glare on him but had to bite her lip to prevent a giggle from spilling out. "So, what about Leliana?"

His laughter gave way to a heavy sigh as he shook his head. "I don't know, love. It won't be easy to convince her and there'll likely be an argument."

"You know she'll be more likely to listen to me."

Alistair pursed his mouth—there was some truth to what she said, even if she was struggling for more persuasive arguments. Studying her with a frown, he considered what other alternatives there could be but with the knowledge of Wynne and her spirit possession limited to their small group of companions, Elissa was the most appropriate candidate. But that did not necessarily mean that she had to confront Leliana by herself.

"Fine but I want Zevran to be there with you. And Oghren, if he wants. Between them, they should be able to keep the peace between the pair of you."

"Alright." Small mercies meant that she seemed to acknowledge that she would be unable to convince him that mediator would be uncalled for. "Oghren said that he needed to see me today anyway."

Even though he knew that he had secured a small victory, a stab of regret that he had backed down at all soured the moment. He trusted Zevran more than he had previously realised but the thought that he would come back from speaking with Eamon, an unpleasant experience in itself he had no doubt, only to find that his friends were even further divided did nothing for his morale.

"Think of it this way," she flashed him a half-smile, "you'll be sure not to spend longer than you have to with Eamon."

Alistair gave a derisive snort but the mention of Eamon reminded him that he should be on his way if he wished to avoid another altercation with the Arl. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss against her cheek as means of farewell then stood, stretching the last of the slumber from his limbs.

A brief glance over his shoulder as he slipped from the room saw Elissa burying back beneath the covers. The sight of Zevran and Liahn at the far end of the corridor interrupted his thoughts of how he might later exact revenge on Elissa.

It looked as though Zevran held the mage by her elbow. On hearing his approach, the pair turned from their discussion and Liahn stepped closer to the elf. Alistair thought that a scowl passed across the Zevran's face but a warm smile flourished before he could be certain. Liahn, on the other hand, maintained her stone-faced expression even as she dipped in a small curtsy towards him.

"Ah, Alistair," Zevran greeted. "I did not expect you to be awake at this time."

"It wasn't my choice," he grumbled, glancing between the two with open curiosity. "What's going on here?"

"I thought that Liahn might require someone to fetch various items," the elf deftly manoeuvred both himself and the mage around Alistair. "Do you wish to speak with me?"

"Yes, actually..."

Walking backwards so that he continued to address Alistair, Zevran nodded. "Of course. I imagine that you intend to wash and shave first, yes? I will seek you out in an hour, I swear."

"It'll just take a minute..."

"It would be a careless for the Arl to catch you out a third time, Alistair," the elf interrupted as Liahn pushed open the door to Leliana's room. "Once you are changed, then we may speak without worry of how it may be construed."

"How what may be construed?" Alistair demanded but both elf and mage had already entered Leliana's room and the soft thud of the door being shut was his only response.

Irritated to be brushed aside in such a manner, he made to follow the pair but the niggling worry which both Elissa and Zevran had reignited with regards to how Eamon might react made him think twice. Shooting a brief glare at the doorway, Alistair resumed his way to his own bedroom. Whatever was going on, he would make sure to find out in an hour.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks to <strong>EasternViolet<strong> for her beta magic!_


	38. Trading Secrets

Zevran allowed the breath he had been holding to escape through his nose as he soon as he overheard the sound of Alistair's fading footsteps. The tension ebbed from his shoulders and he straightened while his hand which had been pressed flat against the door fell to his side. From behind, he heard a short sniff from Liahn who was evidently unconvinced that he would have refused the King entry into the room. Perhaps the mage was right but Zevran was still relieved not to have had to discover the answer for himself.

Turning from the door, the elf looked past the mage standing in the middle of the room towards Leliana. The Bard lay beneath the sheets with her head angled on the pillow in such a way to ensure that the bandage on her face remained undisturbed. Her eyes were closed with her eyelashes flush against her cheeks and her mouth was slightly parted as her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. It was a convincing act but Zevran was aware that was all it was. She had likely awoken the moment his hand had rested against the door latch if not upon hearing the soft murmur of his and Liahn's voices. No rogue would allow themselves to be caught unawares when they were in such a vulnerable position as she was.

Zevran glanced back at Liahn, who had been staring at him, evidently waiting for a reaction to the information she had grudgingly parted with before Alistair had interrupted them. But for once, the elf found himself at a loss. With hindsight, he should have taken the mage directly to Elissa but that would have roused Alistair's attention even further. Zevran was well-versed in the artistry of assassination but truly, it was Leliana who possessed the knowledge of true political intrigue and it was that knowledge he wished he had at this moment.

But the recognition of Leliana's talent offered a respite from the thoughts crowding into his mind.

"It is good manners to inform the patient of your intent, yes?" Zevran gestured towards the bed as he found his voice. "You will tell her what you have told me."

Liahn scowled. "It is for the Hero to decide."

"The Hero will not act without the consent of her friend," the elf snapped. "You have already failed to achieve what you intended through deception. I suggest that you explore the results which an honest approach may produce."

The scowl remained on the mage's face but after a brief hesitation, she nodded in sullen agreement.

"I will wake her. Begin whatever tasks you must," Zevran brushed past the mage and moved to the bed.

There was a faint scuff of the mage's boots against the floor as she moved towards her table before turning her back on the two rogues. On hearing the sound, Leliana's eyelids flickered open as she scoped the room from beneath her eyelashes. Glimpsing Zevran's approach, she allowed one eye to open fully and raised an eyebrow in silent question, evidently sensing his internal conflict in him as easily as he had sensed her alertness.

His brief hesitation to respond to the movement was enough to prompt Leliana to open her other eye. A frown furrowed her forehead and she stole a look towards Liahn before glancing back at Zevran as means of silent question. The elf nodded once in the hopes that she would understand that the presence of the mage was preventing him from confiding in her.

Leliana mirrored the movement as a sign that she understood. Making a point of stirring as though she had only just woken up, she let out a small gasp of feigned surprise. "Oh! Liahn. Zev. Is it morning already?"

"Not yet seven bells," Zevran responded with a smile. He leant over the woman and hooked his hands beneath her arms in order to help her find a more comfortable upright position.

Once Leliana was settled with the pillows rearranged at the base of her back, Zevran pulled a wooden chair closer to the side of the bed. Sinking down onto it, he reached for her hand and began to manipulate her fingers in order to ease the chilled stiffness that he knew came with morning. Whether it helped to encourage what little dexterity remained within them, he had no idea but it had become a little ritual that she permitted him to do for her.

A dull thud followed by a scrape revealed that Liahn had begun to grind some of her herbs in preparation for a fresh salve to be administered to the burn on Leliana's face. The mage was efficient in her craft and Zevran knew it would only be a few minutes before she would wish to examine the burn to determine what additional ingredients should be added to aid the healing.

"Liahn has a proposal," Zevran murmured, his gaze still fixed on the Bard's fingers. "You must listen to her, Leliana. Closely."

Sensing an unusual resistance to his touch, he raised his head to find that Leliana was boring a stare into him. Catching his eye, she widened her eyes as means of communicating the incredulity that she sensed she should not give voice to in Liahn's presence.

"Closely," he mouthed again before glancing over his shoulder to the mage. The pounding of the mortar and pestle had stilled and she was in the process of heating a small bowl of water with a blast of her magic. "Liahn."

The woman refused to respond for a moment and instead concentrated on wetting a cloth. Wringing out the excess water, she turned and indicated that Zevran should move in order that she could remove the bandage from Leliana's face.

Dutifully, he laid Leliana's hand on her lap and stood to one side, pushing the chair out of the way and turning his back on the two women in the process. Turning away from the bed, Zevran moved to a part of the wall that was empty of bookcases and leant his shoulder against the stone, keeping his back to the two women. He hooked a foot around the back of his ankle and folded his arms across his chest while focusing his attention on the sounds behind him.

"Liahn," he addressed the mage again, more sharply this time.

"Patience," she hissed and he heard the soft rustle of bandage being removed. A few moments later, just as Zevran was about to rebuke the mage once more, Liahn let out a soft sigh. "Leliana, we have discussed your progress, yes? You know that there is not much more I can do for you."

"You have said that you will be ordered back to the Circle before I am fully healed."

"That is also true..." the mage acknowledged before breaking off as a faint cry came from Leliana. "My apologies, Leliana. Just let me... there, it is done. Are you alright? Yes? Good." There was the rustle of robes as Liahn returned to her table but since no indication was given that he could turn round, Zevran continued to keep his back to the pair. "Even if I had longer to treat you, I do not believe my skill is sufficient to heal you entirely, Leliana. But I am only one healer and there are others within the Circle who possess both superior knowledge and talents. It is possible that they may be able to heal the injuries in your hands and legs."

There was a sharp intake of breath and Zevran guessed that it was from Leliana.

"My dear, it is not as simple as that," he spoke over his shoulder, not wishing to stir unfounded hope in his friend.

"Oh?"

"The Knight-Captain has ordered that Elissa must make the request personally."

A silence fell over the room broken only by the soft clink of vials and dull thud of the pestle as Liahn focused on creating her salve. Zevran strained to hear any sound from Leliana which would hint at her understanding of the situation. He knew it was not beyond her to make the connections. Following on from the terse exchanges yesterday, it was clear that the mage had not requested that Leliana be permitted to accompany her back to Kinloch Hold simply from the goodness of her heart. But no matter what Liahn's ulterior motives, Elissa would refuse to make the request if she believed that Leliana's presence within the Circle would threaten the delicate balance between templars and mages.

There was a shuffling of sheets as Leliana resettled herself in the bed. "Elissa must request that I am to be taken to Kinloch Hold?"

Unintentionally, both mage and elf chorused "yes."

"I did not know that the Circle accepted patients."

Zevran swallowed his groan. Her deflection was not encouraging.

Stopping with her preparations, Liahn's voice came across more clearly. "You are a Sister, Leliana. It should be little surprise to discover that the Chantry is struggling to find those who are willing to serve in the Circle in the aftermath of Uldred."

"I have not taken my vows."

"I do not think it will matter greatly."

"I see."

The two words were spoken with a finality that Zevran could not bear. Disregarding the vanity of the Bard, he spun round and advanced towards her, ignoring both her squeal of protest and Liahn's outraged tut.

"You wish to healed, yes?" he demanded earnestly.

Her head tilted forward so that her hair fell across her face and obscured the majority of the burn from sight. She winced as even the light graze of strands of her hair caused her pain and Zevran stopped, not wishing to hurt her any further.

"Leliana," he pleaded, "please. Allow us to speak to Elissa. For your own sake."

The Bard chose not to respond, keeping her head down and refusing to acknowledge either him or the mage.

Zevran narrowed his eyes at her, knowing that she was attuned to the atmospherics of her surroundings and would sense his displeasure. But even caught between a Hero and a martyr, he refused to admit defeat.

"Whether you wish it or not, _I _wish you to be healed," he turned from Leliana towards Liahn and gestured towards the door. "Come with me. The Knight-Captain will expect a prompt response and we cannot send one if the Hero has not been consulted."

"Zevran! Don't you..." Leliana jerked her head up, glaring at him.

The elf ignored the protest and hustled Liahn from the room. Staggering a little at the abruptness with which he had manoeuvred her, Liahn resisted walking towards Elissa's room and turned to face him.

"She does not wish..."

Brushing past her, Zevran headed down to the end of the hallway. Calling over his shoulder, he remarked, "you proposed to take her without anyone's consent. Do not tell me that you are now concerned about ethical implications."

With a small snort, the mage dismissed her brief moment of hypocrisy and joined the elf as he hammered against the door.

A muttered groan met the noise.

"Elissa," he raised his voice so that it could be heard through the door. "I have cause to speak with you. Urgently."

"Zev?"

"Yes. May we come in?"

"We?"

"Liahn and I."

"Lia... Yes, I mean, no... uh, wait a moment, alright?"

Through the door, Zevran could only make out the muffled curses of the woman as she completed whatever task she intended. True to her word however, the door did eventually creak open to reveal a heavy-eyed Hero of Ferelden dressed in distinctly crumpled clothes.

Studying Zevran's face, she glanced towards Liahn and found the same severe expression. Opening the door a little wider, she gave herself a small shake as she attempted to wake herself up more thoroughly. "What's wrong?"

Zevran took a step inside the doorway. "Liahn has a proposition for you."

* * *

><p>Having passed a young serving girl en-route to his room, Alistair found that his request for water, soap and a razorblade had been fulfilled even before he had reached the room. But the unwelcoming sensation of the taint trilling at the base of his head was sufficient motivation to not linger longer than he needed to.<p>

Hurriedly completing his ablutions, he chose to ignore the twinge of embarrassment that heated his cheeks at the sight of the bundled weapons lying on the unused bed. Despite being unceremoniously kicked from his betrothed's bed to prevent any awkward confrontations, it seemed that everyone within the state was already fully aware of where he had slept. This was becoming ridiculous. The sooner they were married, the better; if only for the extra time in bed it would allow him to have.

As he finished washing, Alistair reached for the rosewood ring Morrigan had given him but stopped short of replacing it on his index finger. So far, he had only removed the ring only for a few minutes at a time but maybe it was foolish for him to wear it rather than keep it safe somewhere, perhaps with Riordan's swords and Wynne's staff. After all, the child would not be born for some time and although most would assume that the ring was only a trinket or a token from Elissa – and bless the woman for not making any further comment about his wearing it – he did not want to run the risk of losing the only connection Morrigan had granted him to his son. She could have taken it back after she had cast that sleeping spell over him and she hadn't. He would never forgive himself if either she or the child somehow needed his assistance and he remained unaware simply because it was hidden at the back of some chest. His new-found resolution prompted him to push it back into place at the base of his finger. Better to lose it through wear rather than carelessness.

Dressing in fresh clothes from the chests and wardrobes, Alistair slipped from his room and away from the vicinity of the Orlesians. As much as he wished to know what had occurred between Eamon and the Commander during the previous evening, he had no wish to endure an altercation with the rest of the Wardens.

Heading towards the kitchens secure in the knowledge that wherever he might be, Zevran would find him as promised, he almost walked into the Arl as they each rounded a corner at the same time.

"Ah, Alistair," Eamon recovered himself first. "Excellent. I was hoping to speak with you."

"Can I get breakfast first?"

The Arl raised an eyebrow. "There is much to discuss and little time to do it in. It is your choice, however."

"No," he sighed, ignoring the low growl of protest which came from the pit of his stomach. "You're right. What happened with the Commander last night?"

"All in due time, Alistair. There are other matters we must attend to first," Eamon turned and gestured that Alistair follow him away from the kitchen and in the direction of his study.

Lengthening his stride so that they walked side by side, Alistair pressed the man further. "But you can tell me what happened, surely?"

Eamon spared a sidelong glance towards him. "There has been some progress."

"Some progress? What's _some progress_?"

"Alistair..." Eamon began but fell silent as they passed near a servant scrubbing the floor. Once out of earshot, the Arl began again. "Alistair, you must learn that there is a time and place for everything. The hallways of a noble estate will never be the right place."

Suitably chastised, Alistair fell into a reluctant silence but he waited only as long as it took to reach the study. As soon as they were in the room, he closed the door firmly behind them before he moved to the middle of the room while Eamon walked towards the desk.

"Well?" he demanded.

A heavy sigh greeted his insistence but Eamon at least deigned to respond. "The Commander and I wish to discuss the situation with both you and the Hero this afternoon."

As though considering that statement to be sufficient, the Arl sat down in his chair and busied himself with searching through the drawers of the desk.

Alistair took another step closer. "Discuss what situation?"

Eamon glanced up from the desk with a darkening expression. "Alistair, we must first address our own concerns before that of the Grey Wardens."

"But..."

"Enough!" the Arl punctuated the word with a slam of a drawer.

Alistair flinched at the sharp rebuke before remembering that the right of entitlement was no longer in the Arl's favour. Gathering his wits about him, he straightened so that he stood at his full height and fixed an unblinking gaze on the older man.

"I have asked that you tell me what's going on."

"Your Majesty," Eamon acknowledged the display of bravado in front of him through use of the title, "please. I ask that you trust me a little while longer. The situation is in hand."

Exasperated, Alistair dropped his shoulders and rubbed at the back of his neck. "What _is_ the situation, Eamon?"

"Delicate," the Arl gave a small shake of his head accompanied with another long sigh. He swivelled in his chair to pull open a drawer on the other side of the desk and retrieved a sheet of vellum, placing it on the surface of the desk so that Alistair could read it. "This is vital."

Approaching the desk, Alistair leant over and ran his eye across the words in the hopes of uncovering the source of Eamon's reticence but the document referred to Anora. It was the execution order from yesterday.

Jerking back, he raised his head to shoot a glare at Eamon. "No! This isn't anything to do with..."

"This has a great deal to do with the Grey Wardens," the Arl interrupted, throwing himself back in his chair and pinching the top of his nose as he closed his eyes. "The Landsmeet found in your favour but Anora was Cailin's Queen. While the nobility see and understand the distinction between you both, the _Orlesian_ Wardens do not."

He let out an incredulous snort of laughter. "So I should agree to have her executed?"

Eamon cracked open an eye and studied Alistair over the top of his hand. "She would not have hesitated to order your own execution had the Landsmeet gone the other way. Do not fool yourself that she would have shown the same foresight that you did."

"Wardens are needed to end a Blight," Alistair shook his head. "She would have hoped that I'd die in the process but I can't see that she would risk the defence of Ferelden."

Lowering his hand so that he could look at the younger man properly, Eamon rested his elbows against the armrests of the chair and linked his fingers together across his chest. "You are more forgiving than I."

"I'm not arguing that Anora is not a cold-hearted bitch but..."

"Not only would she not have hesitated to execute you but she was willing to risk the life of the Hero," Eamon gave another small shake of his head. "Yes, you are a better man than I could hope to be."

A frown flickered across Alistair's face as his gaze was drawn away from Eamon towards the far corner of the study. He had waited there for hours while Elissa had snuck into the Palace, intent on rescuing the Queen. He had begged and pleaded with her to let him accompany her but she had only smiled before ordering him to stay. When the others had returned, bloodied and bruised, with only Erlina and Anora, he had almost lost his head.

"What if Loghain had acted with more haste when he had the Hero imprisoned?"

The question, softly-spoken, caught him off-guard and his fists clenched by his side. In the chaos which had followed the report that Elissa had been captured, it was Leliana and Wynne who had returned to the Palace in disguise. They were a logical combination: Leliana could pick locks and Wynne would not be recognised. At least, that's what they had told him. But there was only one reason why a healer with only defensive spells would be permitted to accompany a rogue into the very bowels of their enemy's stronghold.

Once he had realised that, it was all the rest could do to ensure that he was kept as far from Anora as possible. More than once, he attempted to storm from the study but either Sten or Oghren had stepped forward. At first, they had simply talked him down from his intent but as time had passed with no news, it had become necessary to deter him with increasing force. Finally, Sten had taken him by the shoulder and slammed him against the wall with the single command of _stay_. After that, he had slid to the floor and with his head in his hands, simply prayed. Trapped and useless, he never wanted to feel that way again.

"If Leliana and Wynne had returned without her; if they too had been discovered; if all three had been harmed," Eamon paused before finishing in a low voice, "what then, Alistair? What would you have done?"

Struggling to maintain his composure, Alistair fixed his gaze on the older man.

"Is it any less than what it your Maker-given right to do now?"

With gritted teeth, Alistair snatched up the quill which lay to one side of the desk and stabbed the nib into the small ink pot. Not waiting to ease the excess from the tip, he scrawled a signature across the bottom of the vellum. It was untidy and covered with blotches and splatters but it was recognisable as his.

"An excellent decision, Alistair. You have the makings of a fine King."

Throwing the quill down on the table, he ignored the man and retreated to the opposite end of the room from that dreaded corner. It was funny. Yesterday he had been unfit to walk in step with the Arl. Now, an execution order later, he had the makings of a King.

What a difference a day made.

* * *

><p>Elissa was sitting on the bed with her legs pulled up against her chest, resting her chin on her knees and glancing between Liahn and Zevran. The mage was sitting on the chair near the door while the elf was standing beside the window. Both had their gaze fixed on her with a shared expectation written across their faces that she respond to the story they had just revealed to her. The problem was that she found that there was little to say.<p>

She shot another fleeting look towards Zevran. Reading between the lines as Zevran had intended her to, she had quickly worked out that Liahn's request was motivated more by the need to discover the truth about Wynne rather than any true desire to investigate how best to heal Leliana. But then who was she to cast judgements on motivations? Her own incentives had become blurred and manipulated more than once. And she was beginning to see that it would happen again. At least this time though, she would be doing the wrong thing for better reasons than her own cowardice.

Stretching her legs out, Elissa shuffled down the bed and perched on the edge. "I want to speak with Leliana..." Hearing the Bard's name and assuming her presence would be required, Liahn made to stand but Elissa waved her back down. "Alone."

Zevran cleared his throat. "I do not think..."

"Are you questioning me, Zev?" she asked conversationally, pulling on her boots without so much as sparing a glance for him. She was certain that Alistair had not yet spoken with the elf which meant she could rely on the fact that Zevran was unlikely to challenge her decisions outright with Liahn watching them.

He sighed but other than tapping his foot against the ground a few times, he made no other protest. "As it please you, my Warden."

"Good," she straightened and flashed him a reassuring smile. "Wait here, both of you. It won't take long."

Slipping away from their company, she made her way towards the Bard's room. For the woman who had willingly joined her, searched for her when Elissa had not wished to be found and somehow discovered an inner strength to come to terms with the implications of Elissa's desertion, there was only one question which really had to be asked. Maker help her, she did not wish to prolong the issue with a discussion. That in itself was proof enough that no matter what followed, she knew in herself that what she was about to do was the right thing.

Elissa gave a single knock on the door before stealing into the room. Upon entering, Leliana ducked her head down and a quick glance towards the table told Elissa that Liahn had not finished her morning routine before Zevran had insisted that the mage come and speak with her.

Dropping down on the bed beside Leliana, Elissa leant forward and hooked a finger beneath the Bard's chin, forcing her head up. Even if she had not already made up her mind, the shame with which Leliana avoided her gaze would have rendered any internal conflict irrelevant. True, the burn on her face was superficial compared to the injuries in her limbs but it was the one which remained in order that the hidden injuries could not be overlooked or forgotten.

"Leliana," she murmured. "Leliana, look at me."

The Bard refused to lift her eyes so Elissa waited, finger still beneath her chin. Eventually, the other woman dragged her stare from the floor to meet Elissa's gaze.

Elissa offered her a hesitant smile. "Do you want me to speak with the Knight-Captain about taking you to Kinloch Hold?"

Surprise flashed across the Bard's face and she jerked her chin up and away although she did not drop her gaze. "I will not lie to the Templars about any risk..."

"I understand," Elissa interrupted her abruptly. "But do you want me to make the request?"

"You would do this? Still?"

Elissa's hesitant smile flourished in a warm if somewhat resigned one as she reached forward, squeezing the woman's arm. "How could I do anything else?"

"I will not stand idly by."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Leliana. All I ask is that you consider carefully before you inform the templars. It will take time for the mages to organise themselves, _if_ they organise, but it will take the templars no time at all. You know what the danger is, you can watch and wait. If the time comes, _if_, then you will be able to act and give detailed information. Surely that is better than the kneejerk reaction you know will come from the templars if you tell them now?"

Leliana eyed her with a suspicion she made no attempt to hide. "I do not understand how you can have changed your beliefs so strikingly since last night."

"I told you," she squeezed the Bard's arm again. "How could I do anything else if it means that you might recover?"

"You are offering to pay a high price."

"You know it's not my price to pay. So, please, don't jeopardise the chance to be healed if there is no need."

Leliana chewed at her bottom lip as she studied Elissa with an intensity that would have shaken Andraste herself. Finally though, she nodded, "I will watch and listen until I have evidence."

"If you have evidence."

A ghost of a smile crossed the Bard's face. "I see your blind hope is returning to you, dear one."

"I prefer to think of it as optimism," Elissa smiled before leaning forward and throwing her arms around the Bard. "I didn't think you'd be leaving me, Leliana."

"Only for a short time, dear one," the Bard tightened her arms around the other woman and held her close.

They remained in the embrace for a few moments before Leliana released her hold.

"I'll have Zev fetch the Knight-Captain now," Elissa got to her feet. "And I'll come and sit with you in a little while, alright?"

"I would like that."

Retracing her steps to her own room, Elissa took a breath before entering. Ignoring Liahn for the moment, she focused all her attention on Zevran and raised her hand. She gestured to the window as indication that the elf head out into the marketplace as she told him, "bring the Captain here. I'll meet him downstairs."

In other circumstances, she would have enjoyed the shock which manifested through a widening of his eyes. A barely noticeable reaction for anyone else, it was distinctive in the normally unflustered elf. Within a heartbeat, he brought the slight movement under swift control and offered her a small bow as way of acknowledgement.

Elissa stepped aside so that he could leave. He made his escape and Elissa held up a finger to Liahn in a silent command that she stop fidgeting and remain in her seat. Poking her head out from the room, she watched as Zevran strode down the hallway and towards the stairs. It was only when he vanished down the stairs that she retreated back into the room and shut the door firmly behind her.

She folding her arms across her chest and studied the mage. "I take it that this did not work out as you intended?"

The mage's cool exterior extended to her ice cold tone. "What makes you say that, Warden?"

"You hoped that the Captain would not dare oppose the Hero and simply agree to take Leliana, didn't you? Then once you had her at the Circle, you intended to interrogate her further about what she may or may not have known about Wynne."

"Wynne treated you. What relevance does Leliana have?"

Loosening her arms from in front of her, Elissa began to count the reasons out on her fingers. "She travelled with Wynne, she travelled with me and you have no reason to drag me back to Kinloch Hold to study me further."

Liahn remained silent.

Elissa rolled her eyes. It mattered little whether the mage chose to admit to her intent or not but it would have been a welcome introduction for what she was about to admit to.

"Liahn, Wynne was possessed by a Spirit of Healing."

A fraction of a delay and then the coldness which had built over the last few days melted from Liahn, and with it about two decades. With a jolt, Elissa realised that the mage was probably only a few years older than herself.

"I knew it," she whispered before shooting Elissa a bewildered glance. "Why admit this now? Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?"

"Yesterday was different. It wasn't about someone else, it was just me. Now though, it's about Leliana," Elissa shrugged. "You'll still help her?"

The question caused the mage to regain her distrustful hesitance and she studied the woman in front of her with a suspicious frown. "You knew what it was I sought from Leliana. Now I know, why would you think I would honour my agreement?"

"If you had made the discovery mid-treatment, would you have continued to help her?"

"I..." Liahn began but she stopped herself and a small flush crossed her cheeks as she lowered her head. "I don't know."

"Well, now you know about Wynne. So there should be nothing to distract you from doing all you can to help Leliana," Elissa allowed her voice to harden. "If you don't and harm her further then I promise you that I will send for the Right of Annulment. And don't think I will be denied."

"Do you find that excessive threats work often, Warden?"

"She's my friend."

Liahn snorted before muttering beneath her breath, "then I dread to think the lengths you would go for someone you loved." She turned and walked towards the window, tapping a finger against her chin as she did so. Raising her voice, she stated, "I have not and cannot promise that we can help her. I simply do not know if it is possible. But in light of the consequences should we not try," she shot a look over her shoulder at Elissa, "I promise that we will at least strive to do so to the best of our abilities. How is that?"

"It's enough," Elissa conceded, though her voice remained cold. "But whatever you do, ensure that your knowledge about Wynne is kept from Leliana. She believes in the Chantry and the work of the templars. She will not hesitate to inform them if she believes you pose a threat."

"Aside from the subjectivity involved with assessing a threat," Liahn turned to face Elissa with an ill-disguised sneer, "we are well-practised in keeping secrets, Warden. Have no fear." The scorn written across the mage's face deepened as she eyed the woman. "But what of our templar King?"

Elissa closed her eyes briefly, exhaling as she reigned in her anxiety. She had no doubt that Alistair would be furious – more than furious – when he discovered what she had done. And it would be when. She could not keep this secret from him. But that was not a matter to be considered at this moment. "He has no knowledge that I have done this. It is important that his involvement remains negligible."

Liahn resumed tapping her finger against her chin but seemed unsurprised by the statement. "Yes and you will be protected by your Order should the truth come out." Her finger stilled as a frown deepened and she stole a look towards Elissa. "I was uncertain whether the rumours were true."

"Rumours?"

"Yes. I have seen the both of you together and I doubted that either of you would be prepared to make such a decision. But it seems clear that you have."

"What?"

The mage's expression cleared as she attempted to decipher the confused stare which Elissa had fixed on her. "The Sisters in the Chantry. They are in uproar. The Arl of Redcliffe has asked that preparations be made for the coronation."

"Well, yes. Of course."

"A coronation, Warden," the mage took a few steps towards her. "A coronation."

"Yes, Alistair is to be King. You said so yourself," Elissa snapped, irritated to be treated as a simpleton. "Why has this upset the Sisters?"

"Well, aside from the fact that the Revered Mother was lost in the siege and they must contact the Grand Cleric..." Liahn paused, searching the other woman's face for a last-minute sign that the Warden was not playing the fool. Finding that the other woman really had no idea as to what she was talking about, she began to fidget with the sleeves of her robes as a means of distracting herself from the awkwardness. "Elissa, there is no talk of a wedding. There is not even word about recognising the betrothal with a prayer or blessing."

Elissa waved away the mage's remark. "The coronation is more important."

"Then you are still betrothed?"

"Of course!" The words were out of her mouth even before she recognised the presence of a niggle at the back of her mind. "Wait, you said that I would be protected by my Order. What did you mean?"

"I assumed that if you were not to marry the King then you would remain a Warden."

She began to protest at the ridiculousness of such a statement. If Alistair was to be accepted by the Wardens as King then she would remain at his side as his Queen, surely that was obvious. She would not abandon him to pursue a life in the Grey Wardens, just as he would not abandon her to become King...

But even as her mouth moved to form the counterarguments, snatches of reactions and comments from the last few days coalesced into one narrative; Alistair's strange behaviour that first proper night after the final battle, that odd comment about the Commander's bow to him yesterday and then that something he had said about Eamon and the Wardens yesterday evening. The blood drained from her face as she desperately scrabbled to remember exactly what he had said and done over the last few days. Whatever it was, it had always been pre-empted by Eamon in some way. Eamon. Always Eamon.

Oh, what had Alistair done? No, what had he allowed Eamon to do?

"A trade," the words escaped from her in a strangled whimper.

It was the mage's turn to look confused. "A trade? Of what?"

Making no effort to respond, Elissa bolted from the room.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you to <em>_**EasternViolet**__ for her hard work on this chapter._


	39. As Duty Dictates

Having retreated to the far corner of the room, Alistair watched Eamon blot the wet ink on the execution order. After a few moments, when the Arl was satisfied that the ink was sufficiently dry, he folded the vellum into thirds before sealing the paper with a drop of wax from one of the nearby candles. Pushing his signet ring into the hot wax, he addressed Alistair without looking up from his task.

"I will send this to Fort Drakon to be carried out immediately."

In a daze, Alistair simply nodded.

Eamon glanced up at the silence but after catching the expression on Alistair's face, deduced that the younger man had no real objection to the comment. Striding to the door and pulling it open, Eamon signalled to a waiting guard from across the hallway and passed him the sealed document. There was a clink of armour as the guard saluted before the thud of his boots faded away and Alistair realised the guard had been given prior instructions to wait for the order as well as where to deliver it.

"You knew I would sign it," he blurted out, taking a hesitant step towards the Arl.

Closing the door softly, Eamon turned and fixed a bemused frown on Alistair. "Do you regret your decision?"

"No, well, no, it's not that... Just, how did you know what I would do?"

The frown on the Arl's face deepened as he studied the younger man. "Perhaps it is more accurate to say I presumed. If I have offended you, Alistair, then I can only apologise but I could not believe that you would allow such a dangerous threat to remain given the precarious situation we find ourselves in and Anora's own prior actions against you."

Unwilling to accuse Eamon outright of deceiving him, Alistair held his tongue and allowed his gaze to drop to the floor.

"I only wish to guide you as best I am able," the Arl continued in a clipped tone. "If you feel that my best is not sufficient then I ask that you find another to advise you."

Alistair fixed a pleading look on the man. "No, Eamon. I told you yesterday. I need your support."

"I remember," the expression on Eamon's face softened and some of the tension ebbed from his body. With a slow stride, he continued towards the desk. "And I thank you for it."

Watching Eamon, Alistair let out a long exhale as his hand crept to the back of his neck. "I'm just finding all of this a little..."

"Overwhelming?"

"Terrifying."

A low chuckle escaped from Eamon as he settled in his chair and stretched his legs beneath the desk. "Then perhaps this is an appropriate time to reflect further on what we spoke about yesterday with regards to Teagan's role within the Arling."

"Oh?"

"He has proven himself in the management of Rainesfere and with the events at Redcliffe. Perhaps he is ready to begin taking on further responsibilities."

"He would make a good Arl."

Eamon raised an eyebrow, and propped his elbows against the armrests of the chair as he made himself more comfortable. "I did not realise Redcliffe was in such desperate need of a guiding hand."

"No, I... it... that's not what I meant," Alistair neared the desk, a flush colouring his cheeks. "I just meant that if Teagan becomes Arl then you'll have nothing to worry about and you can help me, here, in Denerim." Scrabbling for a way out of this corner he had backed himself into, Alistair resorted to his habitual way of deflecting trouble. "We both know I need it."

The corners of Eamon's mouth tensed as though he was holding back a smile. "Teagan was preparing for his role years before he was granted it. As long as you remember your duty, Alistair, then I have faith in your abilities."

Relief washed over Alistair as he heard the answer he wanted to hear. "So you'll stay in Denerim?"

"We will need to formalise some details. I do not wish the others Banns to contest Teagan's power," the Arl leant forward and pulled open a desk drawer, rifling through the contents and pulling out fresh sheets of vellum. "If we draw up a..."

Eamon continued to talk but his voice faded into a drone as Alistair's attention was distracted by the taint thrumming at the back of his head. Faint but resonating throughout his body, he recognised the particular trill as belonging to Elissa.

"Alistair."

The sharpness in Eamon's voice recaptured his focus and he glanced back at the man, blinking in surprise.

"Sorry," he mumbled as the sensation of the taint began to ebb and allowed him to regain his concentration. Wherever she was among the winding corridors of the estate, she was moving away from him. Still, her presence seemed odd. She had been more than content to remain in bed and had certainly shown no desire to roam the halls. "What were we..." His voice trailed off as the drone strengthened again before reaching a new height as she drew closer. It was as though she was searching for him and using the taint as a beacon between them.

"Alist..."

Ignoring the increasing terseness of the Arl's tone—though he was still to listen fully to what the man was actually saying—Alistair headed across the room towards the door. As he pulled it open, the scrape of wood across the flagstones echoed throughout the hallway and he accompanied the sound with the call of her name.

There were a few moment of silence before the rapid thud of boots heralded her arrival. She appeared in the doorway across the hall, body tensed and her head swivelling back and forth as she searched for him. Catching sight of him at last, she sagged against the doorframe and appeared to breathe a sigh of relief.

If he had been so inclined, he might have questioned how it was that a crisis forever seemed to dog at her heels but dressed as she was in yesterday's clothes and with her hair yet to see a comb, he forewent any flippant remark for a simple question. "Love, what's wrong?"

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a clatter which rang out from the study behind him. At the unexpected noise, her gaze shifted and whatever she saw caused her to stand bolt upright.

Alarmed at the abrupt change in her demeanour, Alistair spun round but found only Eamon standing in the doorway.

"Good morning, Hero," the Arl acknowledged the woman with a respectful bow. "I trust you are well."

Sensing waves of anger now radiating from behind him, Alistair looked back to Elissa. Her posture remained defensive but one hand had snuck from her side and was pressed against the wall, her fingers flexing against the stone as she fought to steady herself.

Ignoring the greeting, she spoke through gritted teeth. "What have you done, Eamon?"

"Hero?"

A curl of her lip met the use of title and her gaze swiftly kindled into a glare.

There was a time when even the smallest change in her posture would have been sufficient signal for Alistair to take up arms against whatever she had deemed a threat but her current behaviour simply made no sense to him. Yet with such erratic behaviour over the last few days—and weeks if he were to be entirely honest—he could not be certain that this was not simply another instance of her impaired judgement.

"Elissa," he addressed in her in a low voice, "what's happened?"

It was his turn to be disregarded as she growled again at Eamon. "What have you _done_?"

"Alistair, she does not seem herself," Eamon muttered from behind him. "Perhaps we should call for the healer."

He made to turn his head but the slight movement prompted Elissa to tear her glare from Eamon and focus it towards him. Whatever had triggered this behaviour in her, even if its cause remained a mystery, it was clear that she was nevertheless entirely convinced of its legitimacy. That much, he could see. More than that though, the ferocity with which she was focusing her glare entirely on him communicated very succinctly that she would tolerate him calling into question her sanity.

"Love, help me understand, please," he pleaded, drawing closer in the hopes that being near would help to reassure her in some way. "You're not making sense right now."

"Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"No," she breathed, pressing her fingers to her temples as she scrunched her eyes closed and leant one shoulder against the wall. "No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't agree to it. Not after everything."

Taking a small number of steps towards her, he reached out and caught hold of her wrist so that he could draw her fingers way from her head. Her eyes sprung open at his touch and her eyes darted across his face, searching for an answer to a question he didn't understand.

"Agree to what?" he murmured.

Behind him, Eamon cleared his throat. "I really would recommend that..."

At the elder man's intervention, the reverie Elissa had fallen into was broken and she pulled her wrist from Alistair's grasp as she pushed herself off of the wall. She brushed past Alistair and began to advance on the Arl. "I _know_ you've requested that preparations be made for the coronation!"

Eyeing her with an ill-disguised wariness, for which Alistair could hardly blame the man, Eamon raised his shoulders in a shrug. "I fail to see why this should be such a surprise."

"What about our betrothal? What about _that_?"

Interest piqued at the mention of the only detail he had any prior knowledge of in an increasingly one-sided argument, Alistair shot a glance at Eamon. "What about our betrothal?"

"Yes, tell him what you've agreed with the Warden-Commander!"

She was almost within arm's length of the Arl but the growing shrillness to her voice told Alistair that it would be a very bad idea to allow her to get any closer to the man. Lunging towards her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. He felt the tremors pulsing through her body as she attempted to reign in her seething fury but she didn't resist his intervention.

Over her shoulder, he appealed to Eamon in desperation, "you need to tell me what she's talking about."

"It is one of the details that the Commander and I intended to broach with you both this afternoon."

Elissa let out a squeal of rage. She wrestled from his hold but only enough so that she was able to turn and look him full in the face. "_He_," she flung her arm out behind her and gestured wildly towards Eamon, "has agreed that our betrothal be broken!"

Such a ridiculous accusation did not deserve acknowledgement. Alistair continued to gaze down at her and waited for the Arl's denial. He expected an outraged dismissal of the accusation and a staunch reaffirmation that he would act only in their best interests. However, neither proved to be forthcoming.

"Eamon?" Alistair prompted at last, glancing towards the man.

The Arl offered no further comment. After a few more moments of expectant silence which remained unfulfilled, Eamon retreated back into the study.

Releasing Elissa and abandoning her in the hallway, Alistair followed after him. "Eamon!"

"I have already told you that this will be discussed more fully this afternoon," the Arl spoke over his shoulder as he returned to the desk. "There is little point in talking about it until..."

"_Now!_"

The single word resonated around the room as a stillness descended over the two men, both vying for dominance. While Eamon refused to acknowledge the command, he was not so bold as to dismiss it outright. Yet Alistair was unable to find the courage to impose his will more forcefully than he already had.

From the doorway, a soft-spoken plea interrupted the stalemate. "Please, just tell us."

"It was an unavoidable consequence," Eamon muttered, his head turning a fraction so that his voice would carry further across the room. "The breaking of your betrothal is the price of political stability. It is your duty, as Hero and as King, to pay it whether you like it or not."

Uncertain that he was hearing correctly, Alistair forced out, "wh... why would you do this?"

"I did not plan this, if that is what you are suggesting," the Arl rounded on him, a shadowing passing over his face. "It was an unavoidable consequence to the demands of the Grey Wardens. They would permit you to take your place as King only so long as Elissa remained with the Order. The distinction between Crown and Order must be maintained."

"No," he said slowly, the shake of his head became more pronounced as he convinced himself of his convictions. "No, you never wanted me to marry Elissa. All that talk about an heir..." He trailed off before he finally committed himself to the accusation. "The demands of the Wardens were just a convenient detail for your own agenda."

"Do you think it pleases me to do this?" Eamon snapped, his features contorting into an angry grimace. "If there were another option then I would have considered it. But you asked me to find a solution to this situation and I have carried out your wishes. I cannot be blamed if the result does not coincide with your own personal desires."

"What talk about an heir?" Elissa interrupted as the scrape of her boots against the floor revealed that she had moved further into the room.

With a disdainful snort, Eamon raised his eyes to the heavens in silent prayer. "Do not feign ignorance, Hero. As much as you may wish to dismiss the fact, I am certain that the daughter of Teryn Cousland fully understands the importance of lineage."

The mention of her father, said in such an unflattering tone, jolted Alistair from his brooding introspection and he hastily summoned the presence of mind to grab hold of Elissa as she surged forward.

"Love, stop," he soothed, more from habit than anything else. "Let it go."

She strained against him but the full force of her reaction had already left her. Discovering that she could not slip free of his hold without considerable effort, she ceased to struggle and instead leant into him with her head resting against his chest.

He rested his chin against the top of her head in an attempt to bring himself some comfort from having her unexpectedly beside him. The brief moment of serenity was brought to an end as he felt her take a deep breath. Stiffening, he readied himself for the fallout of whatever comment was to follow.

"We'll find a way."

The words were quiet and measured yet the defiance she succeeded in articulating within them was something to admire. At least, it was to him.

"Do not be ridiculous! The needs of Ferelden cannot be set aside while its King indulges you on some fool notion which may or may not result in you conceiving a child. Think, Hero. If it were possible then there would be countless Grey Warden children throughout Thedas," Eamon shook his head, turning on heel as he approached the window. "No, it is clearly impossible that two Grey Wardens could conceive together."

"Why are you suddenly so certain that it will be impossible?" Alistair spoke up, lifting his head so he could look towards Eamon even though the man continued to keep his back turned on the young couple. "I've never said that it would be impossible."

"Some things do not have to be said," Eamon dismissed the protest with an incredulous snort. Whether he did, in fact, know of the fertility issues associated with the taint or not, it was clear that Arl was at least confident in his own convictions. "And are you truly so certain that it is not?"

Alistair's hesitation was enough to damn him. Elissa twisted in his grip and, unprepared as he was for the movement, she succeeded in wriggling free and began backing away from him. "Don't listen to him! Tell me you're not listening to him!"

"I'm not listening to him," he replied automatically but found that he was unable to meet her eye. Instead, his gaze fell to the flagstone at her feet.

"It no longer matters..." Eamon interrupted but it was a fraction too late to drown out the betrayed growl of his name which escaped from her lips.

The sound echoed in his head and made him deaf to anything the Arl was saying. He forced himself to raise his head but found that he did not have the audacity to hold her accusing stare while these doubts were running through his head.

He had promised. He would not demean either of them by accepting her as anything but his wife. She was worth more than that and, whatever else Eamon had done, he had been raised to be better than that. Yet in spite of it all—the promises, the prayers and the desperate hope— he was faced with the same decision that he had sought to escape from. The inevitability of his situation—of the situation _she_ had placed him in—crowded ever closer and he struggled to catch his breath.

"Why are you letting him do this to us?"

The question needled at his conscience and Alistair snuck a glace in the direction of Elissa just in time to see her wince. There was a flush of colour which rushed across her cheeks before she dropped her head and let her dark hair fall across her face so that the world was obscured from her view... or she was obscured from the world. Whichever it was, it did not matter so much as what it represented. She was humiliated. Not necessarily because of him, though he chose to indulge himself that he at least had some part to it, but rather because her question only emphasised the how little influence she had over her own fate. For all their positions of power, earned or otherwise, both Hero and King were entirely powerless to orchestrate the attainment of their own simple mutual wish.

Swallowing, he murmured, "I don't have a choice. You put me on the throne, Elissa. The Wardens will only recognise me as King so long as... Well, I... we... have to..."

As the words dried up, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against the hair in front of her face, hoping that a tactile connection could communicate all which he found impossible to say. At the forefront of it all was the harsh truth that he could not set aside his sense of duty simply because it suited them. It was the same sense which she had relied on to ensure that he would remain behind to fight the Blight. Without it, everything else would have been lost. Funny, then, that he was about to lose his everything because of it.

The heat from her cheeks did little to thaw the icy look she directed at him from between narrowed eyes. Hand faltering as his nerve briefly failed him; he suppressed the urge to allow the strands to fall back in place in front of her face and hooked them behind her ear instead. His fingers trailed against her jaw and he would have allowed the touch to develop into a lingering caress had she not jerked her head away.

Alistair allowed his hand to fall to his side. "It's my duty."

"What about your duty to me?"

He knew Eamon was still in the room but the man had at least had the sense to fall silent. Even so, the knowledge that the Arl was an unwilling and unwanted voyeur to this fracturing between them only further hampered his ability to convey himself. At least, that was how he chose to explain the bluntness which shaped his next statement.

"This comes first."

A giggle spilled from her; a discordant sound which set his nerves on edge. Her eyes widened and she clamped a hand across her mouth as though simply covering it would prevent any further noise escaping from her unawares.

Paralysed by fear of her outright rejection, Alistair could only watch as she struggled to regain control over herself. The internal war being waged by the conflicting emotion played out across her face and contorted it into unfamiliar expressions until her expression finally hardened into an impenetrable mask.

"You and your duty," she remarked flatly. "To the Black City with you and your duty."

"Yes, well, we can't all just run away from our duty, can we?"

He made the remark under his breath, a last ditch attempt to gain the upper hand in a situation where neither of them had the advantage. But her reaction only seemed to emphasise that his entire involvement in her life had now come down to the flippancy contained within that one statement.

Her mask cracked as a smirk curled the corner of her upper lip before the blank expression reasserted itself. Sweeping low in an exaggerated bow to both men, the Hero of Ferelden took her leave without further hesitation or comment.

For once, she had let him have the last word.

* * *

><p>Elissa stalked through the hallways with her shoulders back and head held high. If any of the servants who scattered in front of her had had the courage to look her full in the face however, they would have discovered eyes bright with unshed tears. Her only thought was the desperate desire to be anywhere but near <em>him<em>. So long as the maddening prickling of the taint, _his _taint, in her head eased with each stride then nothing else mattered.

Yet with each step she took, it became more and more difficult to catch her breath as searing sobs threatened to bubble up from the pit of her stomach. Gulping in air, she stumbled to a halt in an alcove and allowed her shoulders to slump as she bent double, her hands resting against her knees, and tucked her chin into her chest as she allowed her eyelids to close.

_Breathe_.

That was all she had to do; breathe. There was nothing to be gained from acknowledging either the unspoken words caught in her throat or the sensation that each was a tiny shard of glass cutting deep into her chest.

A sound, halfway between whimper and whine, reached her ears and it took her a moment to realise that she was the one making it. She bit down on her bottom lip, focusing on the stinging pain as her tooth cut through skin in the hopes that the distraction would help to quell whatever was causing her to create such a noise.

_Maker be damned, breathe!_

Concentrating on steadying her mind, she forced herself to inhale in through her nose and held the breath for three thuds of her heartbeat before allowing the breath to rush from her mouth. The establishment of a rhythm eased the panic which had begun to creep into her head and she gradually became more aware of her surroundings. The hallway itself was quiet but the scent of smoke-infused leather permeated into her consciousness.

Andraste as her witness, the elf did not walk so much as levitated. There was no other explanation for it. Little wonder that he was so skilled at his profession.

She took a moment to gather herself and hoped against hope that wherever that pitiful sound had come from, it would not betray her when she opened her mouth.

"Zev."

The word was more softly spoken than usual but she was pleased to discover that there was no waver in her voice. Buoyed by the smallest of victories, Elissa straightened and saw both the Knight-Captain and Oghren watching them from across the entrance hall. It was only then that she realised where her feet had been taking her.

Desperate to distract herself from the anguish lingering at the edges of her mind, while at the same time hoping to avoid the questions written across Zevran's face, she forced out from between clenched teeth, "why is Oghren here?"

"He wishes to accompany the templars to Lake Calenhad, to visit with Felsi. I thought it appropriate that he make his request in your presence."

She found her head bobbing. "I see. Yes. Yes, of course. In fact, I'll ask on his behalf."

"Elissa..."

"Come on," she interrupted but was dismayed to hear the pitch of her voice begin to heighten. She hastily turned her attention to her crumpled shirt, rearranging the cloth before running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. With her mind occupied by the inane details of her appearance, she regained her composure. "Let's not keep the Captain waiting."

She heard the rustle and clinks of the elf's armour as he folded his arms against his chest and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Wise enough not to pry directly but evidently still concerned about her capabilities, the elf spoke with uncharacteristic urgency, "Elissa, whatever has happened, I beg that you keep your wits about you. For Leliana's sake, and Oghren."

The words were meant well but his doubt, and the fact that he had felt the need to voice it, only served to rekindle her temper. Her sense of outrage helped to burn through the mist befuddling her thoughts and she seized on the clarity it seemed to offer.

"I would do nothing less!" she snarled.

"I am glad to hear it." His even tone was deliberate; a means of ensuring that he did not provoke her further.

Elissa swallowed. "Sorry, Zev. You... you're right, of course, but I promise I won't let either of them down." She stole a look at the Knight-Captain and the realisation of the fragility of the deal she was expected to broker with the templar triggered an unanticipated issue with regards to... _him_. "Zev, in the study, h... he's in Eamon's study. You have to make sure he stays away from the Captain. He might... appear... when I'm talking and... Just keep him away from me."

The last part was delivered in a garbled rush but Zevran overlooked the inconsistency as to whom he was expected to keep Alistair from.

"As you wish."

"Good," she took a steadying breath but grabbed a hold of the elf's arm as he made to carry out her instructions. "Wait, what's the Captain's name, again?"

"Joal but he prefers to be addressed by his rank."

In spite of everything else crowding in her head, Elissa discovered a faint smile creeping across her face at the little but significant detail. Ever the silver-tongued flatterer, at least at one time, she had found a worthy rival in Zevran and he continued to demonstrate flashes of brilliance that she would otherwise overlook.

Accurately interpreting the hint of amusement in her expression, Zevran flashed a wide grin before freeing himself from her grasp and continuing in the direction of the study.

Elissa turned in the direction of the Knight-Captain and found that a confident stride was easier to accomplish when she only concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. Within a few moments, she found herself in front of the templar and, ignoring Oghren for fear that she might discover a hint of concern in the face of battle-hardened warrior, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and leant forward in recognition of the man's position. "Knight-Captain."

The templar mirrored the gesture though with a markedly different attitude. Clearly unimpressed with the inconvenience he had been subjected to in her name over the last few hours, Elissa doubted that the man would tolerate any show of weakness.

"Captain," she began, drawing out the word and praying that her slow delivery would be interpreted as measured rather than floundering. "Captain, please, I must first apologise for any offence that I have unwittingly caused you." The unexpected flow of words helped to bolster her crumbling confidence and she clutched at the opportunity to press forward. "I sincerely hope you believe that I would not dare to presume to interfere in the workings of the Circle unless requested by either your Commander or the Grand Cleric. I can only hope you are able to forgive the misunderstanding."

The man gave a begrudging shake of his head. "It was not your misunderstanding, Hero. The mage should have listened more closely."

Elissa fought to suppress the crippling ache which flooded through her at the use of the title. One word which somehow encapsulated all that she had lost through the process of attaining it. But such thoughts were of little relevance to the task at hand and with a shuddering sigh, Elissa risked a glance towards Oghren.

Catching the dwarf's eye, the sense of obligation she had always felt towards her ragtag band of companions resurfaced and helped to strengthen her resolve. Oghren may not have requested that she smoothe over his request but it did not change the fact that her word would be valued more than his. He needed her, just as Leliana did; that was what she had to clutch onto.

Even as the thought articulated itself in her head, she heard herself murmur,"I will not forget this consideration, Captain." It was not the first time her mouth had run away from her but in this instance, she was glad. Tearing her attention away from Oghren, Elissa refocused on the templar and continued, "I am aware that Ferelden already owes you a great debt for he contribution you and your men made towards the defeat of the Archdemon. It cannot have been a simple matter to escort as many as twelve mages from the security of the Circle."

The stare of the Knight-Captain festered into a glower. "There was also the matter of the apostate."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oghren about to open his mouth and shot him a withering look. She was barely holding this together without having to compensate for the dwarf's all too ready insults.

Oghren blinked but shut his mouth and returned to examining the top of his boots.

"Yes, Captain," she forced out. "I have been informed of the unfortunate incident. Let me assure you however that your diligence in this particular matter has not gone unnoticed.

"_His_... Majesty's," the garbled addition of the title suggested that the Captain had been about to forget his place as his fervour got the better of him, "interference meant that the apostate was able to escape."

"Yes," Elissa allowed her eyes to close briefly. She was almost certain the templar would interpret it as regret that Morrigan had not been persuaded on the virtues of the Chantry but in truth, the reference to the Witch had thrown her. All the initial doubt and fear which the Witch's ritual had prompted threatened to cloud her judgement once more.

"Hero?"

She flinched but clung onto the pain which shot through her, using it as a means of clearing her head once more. Opening her eyes, she remarked, "that is a battle for another day though, wouldn't you agree Captain?"

A scowl darkened his features. "I do not see that I have much choice in the matter. My attentions must be focused elsewhere for the moment."

"Quite, which brings us back to the issue at hand. I would be grateful if you would permit me to ask two favours from you."

"Two?"

Elissa turned to Oghren and the genuine affection she felt towards the dwarf eased the effort it took to summon a smile. "Yes, it seems that Lake Calenhad will become home to two of my closest friends."

The dwarf rolled his eyes but he was unable to prevent the self-conscious grin which pulled at the corners of his mouth; Oghren was a romantic in his own, very unique, way. The sight of his contentment helped to brighten her own smile and she turned back to the Knight-Captain with a burst of renewed vigour.

"Captain, I ask that you permit Leliana to return with you to Kinloch Hold and that Oghren may accompany you on your journey."

The Knight-Captain turned and eyed the dwarf at his side with open contempt. "And what's a dwarf want outside of Orzammar?"

"He has business at the Spoiled Princess," Elissa intervened before an retaliatory insult about to erupt from Oghren. "He only wishes to travel with you and I am certain that he would be willing to bolster the defensive capabilities of your men while in your company. Isn't that right, Oghren?"

The dwarf grunted.

"Please, Captain," she needled the man. "I would consider these acts to be a personal favour to me."

Sullen-faced, he muttered, "I will require a document clearly outlining these requests which can be presented to the Knight-Commander should he object."

"Certainly, Captain. I would not expect you to put your commission at risk."

"Very well." The words were spoken with all the enthusiasm of a man condemned. "But I have no wish to remain in Denerim much longer. We must return to Kinloch Hold."

"I am certain that both Leliana and Oghren will fit in with whatever schedule suits you best."

"I trust I can expect assistance from His Majesty?" the Captain raised an eyebrow. "Carts, supplies and such?"

Her mouth dried as her bravado faltered but having come so far, she refused to entertain the idea of defeat. It was not an unfair request, after all and, given some time, she was certain she could uncover a means by which to circumvent actually having to make the request of... _him._

Elissa did not trust herself to vocalise any further remark but she succeeded in offering an earnest nod as means of agreement.

"Then it seems I have preparations to see to," the templar remarked. "Unless you wish something further of me, Hero?"

"No, Captain," she replied in a hoarse voice.

"I hope we will have the opportunity to talk further before you leave, Hero," the man bowed before turning on heel and marching away towards the main entrance.

Oghren snorted. "Sodding templars. Lyrium-heads, the lot of them."

"Oghren!" She made to teasingly rebuke him but her growing weariness meant she misjudged the lightness of tone required and hearing the harshness in her voice, she opted for a change of topic instead. "Why didn't you talk to me about Felsi last night?"

"Heh," the dwarf fidgeted. "Well, you know."

Studying him, Elissa was granted a brief moment of respite from her own heartache. The dwarf had suffered his own share of troubles and he deserved to make a new start after all that had happened with Branka in the Deep Roads. She rested a hand against his shoulder as she remarked quietly, "she'll be lucky to have you, Oghren."

"Too sodding right!"

His eternal misplacement of any modesty shook free a giggle from deep within her. She opened her mouth to retort when the taint began to ring in her head and scattered her thoughts. For a moment, she froze in panic before realising that it was not the one song she was familiar with. Still, she had no intention of enduring a meeting with any Grey Warden, Orlesian or Fereldan.

"Come on," she gestured that Oghren was to follow her. "Quick. I promised I would sit with Leliana and I know she'll want to know everything. You can tell us what you've been up to."

"Reckon someone else might be wanting your company first," the dwarf gestured behind her with a jerk of his head.

Irritation that she had been caught despite her intentions swelled up inside of her and she encouraged the sensation to flood through her, using it as a means of pushing aside the urge to run and hide.

Throwing a haughty look over her shoulder, she recognised the elven Second. He caught her look and returned it with one of disdain.

"Cousland."

"Second," she muttered.

"Commander, actually."

He stopped a few paces from her as he made the remark so that she was forced to turn fully in order to study him. His mouth was twisted in distaste but there was no indication that he had any intention of expanding on the statement as to whether he was the new Commander of the Orlesian or Fereldan Grey.

"You don't seem impressed by your promotion."

"I am merely a political pawn."

"A Warden-Commander in your own right is hardly something to complain about."

"If it was sufficient compensation then you would have claimed the title as your own."

Fereldan Grey, then. A small lurch in her stomach reminded her of her pride which crept into the empty chasm of her chest and entwined around the shattered fragments of her heart. Ridiculous considering the circumstances but there it was; wounded pride that she had not been given the position. Struggling to draw breath, she rasped, "I was not given the opportunity to claim it."

"Unsurprising since you have not proven yourself worthy of it."

"Hey!" Oghren bristled, taking offence on her behalf.

Elissa waved a hand at the dwarf in a signal that he ignore the remark. Faintly, she attenpted to save face with a small shrug. "If he wants the position then he can have it."

"I did not wish this, Cousland." A flash of anger streaked across the elf's face and he clenched his fists. "My promotion is neither desired nor earned. I have no interest in becoming involved with the tensions that exist between nations or races but it seems that very wish is my undoing."

The success with which she had provoked such a reaction, especially as she had not intended to, distracted her from her preoccupations. Relfecting on the statement, Elissa began to frown. The remark, for all the bitterness it was steeped in, was remarkably astute and it was becoming clear that for all his simmering rage, the elf was no fool.

"There are details which must be discussed," Torih spoke through gritted teeth. "Our presence is required by the Commander, Arl and King."

"Quite the sodding list," Oghren observed with a grunt.

The blood drained from her face as she realised what was to be required of her. "No. No, I'm not... I refuse to be summoned... tell them, tell them that..."

Torih sneered at her. "I am no messenger, Cousland."

"Sent to fetch her, ain't ya?"

The dwarf had good intentions but his comment only served to grate on her already frayed nerves and she lost her patience. "Oghren! Go!" She gestured to a door across the entrance hallway which led to the staircase to the upper levels of the estate. "Go and see Leliana. Up those stairs, second floor, first door on the left. Just, go!"

If Oghren had had the sense to slink away then it might have appeased her somewhat. As it was, a wide grin appeared on his face before he decided to accept the opportunity to remove himself from the vicinity of the Orlesian Warden.

Watching him able away from them, Elissa kept her mouth shut until he disappeared up the stairs before making her defiant, or desperate, stand against the elf. "I have no interest in hearing what any of you say."

"You are under the mistaken impression that we care," the elf remarked before signalling that she should begin walking. "Cousland, I have no desire to look upon you let alone have you as my Second. Not only did you abandon your duty but you somehow circumvented the only act which could have redeemed you. I do not know how you survived but I am certain that it was not by fair means and your survival disgraces the four who went before you. Trust me when I say that I am as uninterested in your opinion as you are in mine."

Sifting through the rant to the only detail which truly affected her, Elissa echoed faintly, "your Second?"

"You may direct your questions to the Arl and Commander." Stepping forward, the elf grasped at her elbow with a surprising strength—or perhaps it was because she finally acknowledged how tired she was of always somehow having to fight—and propelled her in the direction of the study. "Now, move."

* * *

><p><em>Many thanks to <em>_**EasternViolet**__ for her beta talents!_

_Thank you for reading :)  
><em>


	40. Our Separate Ways

Zevran lounged against the wall beside the doorway of Arl Eamon's study, one ankle crossed over the other as he strived for one of his more nonchalant poses. His thumb ran lightly across the edge of his dagger as he made a show of examining the blade, absorbed by the reflected glint of early morning light in the metal. It was an old trophy but valuable for its unusual size; intended for ceremonial use, his carrying it within the walls of the estate would not cause offence though he remained secure in his ability to turn it into a formidable weapon. However at this precise moment, its more useful purpose was to serve as a decoy for the fact that he was focused on what was going on beyond the study door rather than in the hallway.

Straining to listen, he could hear the low rumble of the dwarven Warden-Commander, occasionally punctuated by the higher tenor of the Arl. Yet no matter how he tried to quieten his breathing, the elf could not decipher any detail, no matter how obscure, which might help him to understand this mess he had stumbled upon.

It did not take much wit to know who had disturbed his Warden so. As much as Elissa had proven herself to be a fine actress—a revelation he would have preferred to have been timed a little better than it had been—Zevran was yet to witness another who had the same effect on her as the new King. He had watched them respond to one another over the months he had spent with them and as much as she may not have wished to admit it, Elissa was as affected by Alistair as Alistair was by Elissa. From the dizzying heights of blissful contentment to the deepest depths of melancholy, the pair had been working their way towards a mutual equilibrium of heart and soul. As infuriating as it had been on occasion, and he had not been able to resist a sly remark here and there, Zevran had found observing the all too distant aches and pains of first love was in itself cathartic. Such shared innocence had endeared the two Wardens to him.

All of which demanded that he unravel just what Alistair had done to reduce Elissa to the trembling wreck that Zevran had stumbled on, as well as sate his own curiosity with regards to the motivations which had enabled the man to bring himself to do it.

However, following through on such a resolve was proving to be particularly difficult. Zevran had caught only a glimpse of Alistair, the man slumped at the desk cradling his head in his hands, while Eamon and the Commander exchanged hushed but pointed remarks with one another. When Eamon had spied the elf in the hallway, he had roundly shut the door in Zevran's face before he could catch Alistair's attention.

But the Arl's interference was irrelevant. Zevran would keep his vigil. His orders had been clear and whether Alistair wished it or not, or if it was for the reasons Elissa had intended or not, it was clear that the King did indeed need someone to watch over him. Who better than a friend?

The soft tread of footfalls stirred Zevran from his thoughts and he straightened to greet the newcomer, sheathing his blade as he did so. Elissa emerged from the doorway with the Orlesian elf—Zevran had thought Torih's absence had been too convenient—a half step behind her, his hand firmly gripping at the woman's elbow.

At sight of the Antivan, Torih's lip twisted into a sneer but Zevran paid little attention to his adversary. His Warden has entirely captured his attention. Her eyes were glazed and shoulders hunched and while she blinked at him as they approached, there was no hint of recognition.

Suddenly it did not matter that the Orlesian was there. Zevran was at her side in a moment, his movement startling her out of her trance and forcing the pair to come to a standstill. He rested a comforting hand against the small of her back as he attempted to coax some familiar reaction from her.

"Elissa, you do not look well," he murmured, ignoring the growl of protest which rumbled from Torih. His voice provided her with a beacon to cling to and she turned her head, gazing at the Crow for a few moments before mumbling, "Zev."

Recognition of her friend prompted her vacant stare to sharpen into a desperate plea which begged him not to steal the last shred of dignity she was struggling to hold onto. It dug deep into his conscience and he would have listened were it not for the way she immediately closed her eyes, almost swaying as she did so. In his inability to harden his heart against the sight, he found that he could no longer do as she commanded.

"You are not capable..."

Her gaze hardened as she drew herself up and squared her shoulders. She shook herself free from both Torih's grip and the hand Zevran still had against her back before marching towards the door without another word. With a contemptuous snort, the Orlesian Warden brushed past Zevran and the pair vanished into the study, the door firmly shut on the Antivan once more.

Zevran permitted himself one drawn out sigh before he drew his blade out and returned to his position next to the doorway. He would wait.

* * *

><p>The satisfaction Torih felt at the Antivan's exclusion was short-lived as the strained silence within the room enveloped him. The dwarven Commander stood near the fireplace, head bowed and arms crossed mulling over some detail, while the Arl was at the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out. Both turned at the clatter of footsteps behind them though Torih was mollified to discover that it was Cousland who bore the brunt of their stares.<p>

She ignored them both, coming to a halt a few steps into the room and standing stiffly to attention as she focused on some stone in the far wall. She was striving to disprove the Antivan's comment that she was not capable of withstanding the pressures of this meeting but her deliberate aversion to look anywhere in the vicinity of the bastard King revealed more than she likely intended.

"Perhaps I should begin," the Arl cleared his throat as he surrendered his position at the window in favour of nearing the desk and addressing the younger man. "I must apologise for the manner in which this news has been delivered, Alistair," he spared a quick glance towards Cousland, "and you, Hero."

Torih bristled at the title though he found himself distracted by the accompanying shudder which ran through her. There was clearly some leverage to be had in its use, even if it threatened to burn his tongue should he ever use it to address her.

Unaware of the reaction he had prompted, the Arl continued. "The Commander and I were aware of the difficulties this solution presents and we had hoped to reveal it more discreetly than this."

The attempt by the Arl to placate the young couple held no interest for Torih but it confirmed that the revelation of the agreement had not gone to plan. The elf had guessed as much when, only less than an hour ago, a servant had pounded on the door of Argarth's room with the summons that the Commander and his former Second were to gather in the Arl's study immediately. Torih had made to protest, the key elements of the agreement having only been briefly outlined to him, but the Commander signalled that he was to attend without further complaint. The elf knew enough to maintain his superiority over Cousland, itself invaluable, but it did not obscure the fact that for much of the following discussion, he would be hearing the specifics for the first time just as she was.

"Dress it up how you want," Cousland snarled in the direction of the wall. Torih could only assume that the Arl had moved too close to Theirin for her to feel comfortable to track his movement. "The fact is you want the betrothal broken."

Argarth stiffened at her interruption and shot a pointed look towards Torih.

A surge of resentment bubbled up from the pit of the elf's stomach. The Antivan's earlier remark should have led him to anticipate her show of defiance but it was difficult to reconcile the near mute woman he had escorted from the main doors with the seething creature now beside him. He went to grab her elbow again, but was checked by the Arl who evidently feared a more violent rebuke and hastily held up a hand as signal that the elven Commander was not to concern himself with his newest recruit's apparent insolence.

"It is to be expected," the man added before settling his attention back to Cousland. "Hero, you must understand..."

"The heir."

The dwarven Commander gave a snort. "Such a thing is no concern of ours, Cousland."

"No, that's _his _concern," she spat, eyes still fixed dead ahead. "What is _your_ concern?"

"The sanctity of our Order," Argarth remarked coolly. "The oaths of two Grey Wardens cannot be allowed to be forsaken for what could be interpreted as political gain on our behalf."

"Then I can only hope you gain nothing." She pushed each word out from behind gritted teeth.

Her continued show of impertinence was fast wearing down his limited patience and Torih growled. "Watch your mouth."

The corner of her mouth twisted and he had the distinct impression that he was a source of bitter amusement to her.

"Regardless of how you may feel, Cousland..." Argarth spoke again in a raised voice, eyeing the elf as he did so.

Under the scrutiny of his former Commander, Torih forced back the overwhelming urge to strike the woman and mirrored her stance in the hopes that some discipline in his posture would manifest itself to his mind.

"... to permit such a thing undermines all we stand for."

Cousland swung her head round and levelled the full force of her glare at the dwarf. "And deciding not to send me to Weisshaupt? Making me a _Second_?" At the revelation, a frown flickered across the dwarf's face before he shot a dirty look towards Torih. Evidently the Commander wished the elf had kept that particular detail to himself. But oblivious or indifferent to the brief tension between the pair, the woman carried on. "How does that not undermine everything that you stand for?"

The mention of Weisshaupt provoked a reaction in Theirin and the man suddenly stirred, shifting in his seat as he raised his head, blinking as he struggled through his daze.

"No." The word was spoken in a rasp and he forced himself to cough. "No, not Weisshaupt. She stays in Ferelden."

His intervention was a spark to kindling. Cousland whirled round, fists clenched and fire in her eyes as she began to advance towards the desk. "His _Majesty_," she hissed the word, lacing it with poison as it passed across her lips, "will not presume to speak on _my_ behalf."

The chair clattered to the ground as Theirin rose to his feet. Eyes locked on her hers, he leaned forward, resting his palms flat against the desk and reacted to her bravado with the beginnings of his own.

"_Enough_."

The booming delivery of the word deafened them all as it bounced off the walls.

Cousland stopped dead in her tracks as Theirin flinched before both turned to stare at the dwarf. Argarth strode forward, pushing past the Arl and placing himself in front of the desk with his back to Theirin. As he eyed Cousland, his lip began to curl into a sneer. "Return to your Commander."

Torih expected some form of resistance but in the face of battle-scarred experience and hard-won authority, she yielded. Chastened, she tucked her chin into her chest before falling back to stand at Torih's side. Beneath his breath, the elf sniggered which earned a muffled snarl from Cousland. Her reaction only sweetened the moment further.

"I am inclined to agree with the King," as the dwarven Commander regained his composure, his expression smoothed out into one of inscrutability. "The Arl has enlightened me to the delicate nature of the politics within this country. I do not think the removal of the Hero at this point would be wise for the stability of either Order or Crown."

"I will _not_ remain here." Her protest was sullen but earnest.

"You have your orders. You will abide by them."

Cousland jerked her head up as she seized on some opportunity she perceived had been presented to her. "But _you _are not my Commander." She turned to stare at the elf, lips pressed together in a thin smile which contorted her face. "As Commander of the Ferelden Grey, what are _your_ orders for me?"

Before Torih could respond, Argarth let out a low chuckle as he acknowledged the truth in her statement. "This is true, Cousland." There was a hint of amusement to his voice which revealed that the dwarf was under no illusions as to the internal conflict the woman had prompted within his former Second. "She is yours to command, Torih."

"Cousland," he drew her name out into a hiss as he narrowed his eyes, contemplating the choice which was, in truth, no choice at all. Her very presence offended him and disgraced all he identified with. Yet it was clear that unless he wished to court the displeasure of the dwarven Commander, then he had no choice but to accede to the arrangements already agreed. As the heat of four stares boring into him caused his temper to simmer, Torih finally snapped out, "as my Second, she will remain with me for the time being while we rebuild our numbers in Ferelden."

Argarth nodded in approval but a dissenting growl rumbled from Cousland.

"I don't care. I'll still leave."

All pretence at self-control vanished from Torih and he grabbed at her arm, dragging her down so that her face was only inches from his own.

"It is true that we do not have the resources to prevent you at this moment in time," he spat, seeing the reflection of his face in her widened eyes, "but rest assured that as Commander in Ferelden, I would ensure that should you ever return to these borders, you would be punished for both instances of desertion."

A timely clearing of the throat from Argarth brought Torih back to more practical matters. Recollecting the reference to political stability, the elf pushed her away, a disgusted grimace passed across his face as he acknowledged the real incentive that would ensure her compliance. "It should also be pointed out that should you decide that you do not wish to heed my command, the Order may very well decide not to heed the need your country has for a King." His voice hardened as he stared the woman down through narrowed eyes. "I imagine the reports of Ferelden's civil war will follow you wherever you flee, Cousland."

Her cheeks lost all colour as she at last realised the full extent of the consequences that others would have to bear if she did not adhere to the decree.

The Arl cleared his throat a second time. "An excellent point to consider, Hero."

Without waiting for confirmation from the woman, Argarth addressed the Arl. "I am certain that the Warden is now in full agreement with your decision."

Cousland cringed but offered no further argument. Instead she shuffled behind Torih, attention focused on her feet as she retreated into herself and at last permitted her betters to continue with the arrangements.

Sensing the battle was all but won, the Arl glanced at the dwarf. "Can I assume that your intentions to journey to Ostagar remain intact, Commander?"

"Ostagar?" Theirin echoed, drawing the attention of both as a frown furrowed his forehead.

"We wish to reclaim the ruin as our own," Argarth confirmed. "Another measure to distance the Order from the involvement of the Crown."

"But that makes no sense," Theirin began to shake his head. "The full force of the Horde was levied against it. Why would you choo..." he trailed off as his glances between the two began to linger on the Arl. "You."

The older man remained resolute under the steadfast stare.

"Why not Soldier's Peak?" Theirin challenged at last. "Why not reclaim your own territory?"

"There are already too many similarities with Dryden in this situation. I am reluctant to return to the very fortification from which she launched her rebellion against the Crown," Argarth replied evenly.

"So you intend to claim an abandoned Tevinter ruin on the edge of the Korcari Wilds," the younger man summarised, making no attempt to hide his contempt for the nugshit he was being presented with. "Near the opposite border to Orlais, no less."

"The decision has been made, Alistair..." the Arl began in a murmur.

Whether it was the unwelcome intervention or the uninvited familiarity, Theirin stiffened as the man spoke. Lowering his head so that he stared down at his hand still pressed against the desk, the younger man issued his instruction in a cold voice. "Leave us."

Behind him, Torih sensed the change in Cousland. Even without being able to see her, he had no doubt that the two men suddenly had her full attention.

The Arl's eyebrows shot up before knitting together into a puckered brow. "I would ask that you do not..."

"_Leave_."

The older man looked first to Argarth and then Torih as the command echoed around the room. Finding that no one was prepared to dispute the order however, Eamon's face settled into a stony expression even as he bowed to the other man.

"Of course, your Majesty."

Torih stepped to one side, hearing the scrape of Cousland's boot as she did the same behind him, and the elder man stalked past them, slamming the door behind him as he left. Torih did not bother to spare a glance for the Arl however, preferring to focus on the unexpected, if tame, outburst from Theirin.

The young man heaved a sigh before spinning round to retrieve the chair from where it had toppled. Righting it, he sank down and took a deep breath before raising his head to catch Argarth's eye.

"Let's start at the beginning and you can tell me everything that Eamon has agreed," Theirin's gaze flickered from the dwarf towards Cousland and a wretchedness rushed across his features, lingering for a moment before the young man gathered himself and settled his focus once more on Argarth, "on our behalf."

* * *

><p>Having been caught off-guard by the abrupt exit of the Arl, Zevran remained where he sat, cross-legged on the floor with his back rested against the wall, as the door opened for a second time. The dwarven Commander did not spare him a second glance as he marched past but when Elissa and the elf emerged from the room, Zevran scrambled to his feet.<p>

Elissa raised her head at the faint scuffle and the effort it took to summon even a faint smile seemed to exhaust her reserves. Fleeting as it was, Zevran understood that she intended him to interpret the gesture as a beckon.

"My Warden," he acknowledged, drawing closer to her.

"Zev. I... I need my armour. And swords, if you can find them," her brow knitted into a frown. "I'm not sure where they removed everything after..." her voice caught and he reached out, his fingers grazing against her arm as he tried to distract her.

"Why?"

"I am Second of the Ferelden Grey," she replied in a hollow voice, her eyes darting towards Torih revealing the identity of her Commander. The singsong nature of the statement suggested that it was something she had been endlessly reciting in her head. "We are to leave for Ostagar tomorrow."

Zevran shot a look towards the doorway of the study. "And Alistair..."

"The King keeps his own counsel."

"I see." He waited for a moment but when it became clear that she had no intention of expanding on the statement, Zevran nodded his agreement to her earlier request. "I will find your belongings, Elissa."

"Thank you," she murmured, bowing her head and pressing her fingers to her temples. It was clear that she was struggling to sift through her thoughts and that the process was exacerbated by the presence of the Orlesian. She reared her head and confronted Torih. "Do you mind?"

The Orlesian regarded her with thinly veiled disgust. "There is nothing you cannot say in front of me, Cousland. In fact, given your prior behaviour, it would seem a necessity that I remain."

Recognising the warning signs that his Warden was close to losing all self-restraint, Zevran interceded with a quiet murmur, forcing her to refocus on him rather than the Commander.

"What do you wish of me?"

Her eyes flew back to Zevran and he was pleased to see the anger subsided from her expression, though the shame remained.

"All the money we had. Before I..." her voice trailed off as she winced at the unbidden memory. Swallowing, she struggled on, "before I lost... my way..."

"I imagine it remains in the room you were given," Zevran interrupted, anticipating her request and wishing to shield her from further hurt. "I do not believe the servants would have rifled through anything they thought belonged to you."

"Go and speak with the Knight-Captain. Provide anything he needs using it. Whatever is left, you take, Zev."

"Payment for services rendered?"

Elissa shook her head, dropping her eyes to the floor. "Money for a fresh start."

"What do you propose?"

"There's nothing to keep you here. We dealt with the Crows, you can return to Antiva."

"We dealt with the Crows in Denerim," he corrected. "My life remains forfeit. But that does not concern me greatly."

"I won't be here, Zev. Leliana and Oghren are leaving soon. We're all going our separate ways."

Zevran shook his head. She was being deliberately obtuse and he had long since learned that when she was in this mood, no amount of cajoling or flattery would appease her. Instead, it was simpler all round to speak plainly.

"And what of Alistair?"

"I doubt the King will have much need for you, Arainai," Torih grunted. "Or do you intend to fail to protect him and so complete your original mission?"

Disregarding the contribution from the Orlesian, Elissa gave a shrug. "Do what you want, Zevran. You're nothing to do with me anymore." She glanced up from examining the scuffs on her boots and in the direction of Torih. "Well, _Commander_? What now?"

The Orlesian pushed her in the direction of the door leading to the main hall and she walked away from Zevran without another word. Torih threw a smirk towards the Antivan but made no comment as he strode after his new Second.

Zevran remained where he stood, head bowed as he struggled to retain his perspective. Her words had stung. Still, he was not yet ready to renege on his bond even if she was just testing his patience. Giving himself a small shake, he imagined flinging his own harsh words away as he did so. Taking a calming breath in and out, Zevran backtracked to the open door of the study.

Alistair was lost in thought in front of the fireplace. The flickering of the flames reflected in a dull glint from a thin chain wrapped around his fingers, though whatever the chain held was clasped tightly in the palm of his hand. He gave no sign that he was aware of Zevran and the elf chose not to venture closer. He understood the sight of a man who did not wish to be disturbed.

After a few minutes, Alistair raised his hand and allowed the chain to drop its full length. The small vial of blood which has always hung around the man's neck now swung in midair and Zevran allowed his gaze to follow its motion. Neither Alistair nor Elissa had confided in him the importance of the vial but since Alistair neither removed it or his mother's amulet, the assassin understood that whatever the meaning, the vial held a great deal of significance. Suddenly, he pulled at the chain and caught the vial in one swift movement before he withdrew his hand and threw the vial against the back of the fire in a burst of anger. A musical tinkering filled the room as the glass hit the wall before falling, undamaged, into the grate. Intended to be worn beneath armour, and presumably enchanted in some way, his throw was hardly equivalent to the weight of heavy plate pressing down on it.

Alistair let out a groan at his failure to accurately convey his frustration. He made a half-hearted attempt to snatch up the poker but finding the handle just outside of his reach, he gave a hollow laugh before straightening, abandoning the vial in the hot ashes of the grate. Sensing that the man was about to make his exit, Zevran retreated on silent steps and hid himself within the shadows in the far reaches of the hallway.

As predicted, Alistair walked from the room, head down, but with a sense of purpose which alerted the elf to necessity of following the new King. He could spare a few minutes however.

Waiting until the man's footsteps had faded, Zevran returned to the study and stole across to the fireplace. He took up the poker and retrieved the vial with ease, depositing it on the desk so that it could cool. He hesitantly held a hand over the glass in an attempt to assess its heat. While the chain was uncomfortable to the touch, the glass remained cool though he marvelled at the eerie warmth that had nothing to do with the residual heat from the ashes radiating from the blood within it. Gingerly, Zevran tucked the vial into a pocket, ensuring that there was plenty of clothing between it and his skin. He did not think it posed a risk but he had no wish to be proven wrong simply through carelessness.

With his prize secured, Zevran followed after Alistair. His tracking of the man was easy but took him to an unexpected part of the estate. The elf had expected that Alistair, deprived of the maternal guidance of Wynne, would turn to Leliana. But he had headed away from the direction of the Bard's room and towards the rooms nearer the courtyard and stables.

Confronted by walking down an empty corridor, Zevran realised he had lost his mark and was forced to double back. One of the doors further up was ajar and as the elf pushed at it, the squeal of the hinge announced his arrival.

Alistair glanced round at the noise but seeing he was under no threat, returned his attention to the object on the large table dominating the centre of the room. Around the walls, empty hooks and racks spoke to the ferocity of the battle against the Horde as all weaponry had found a willing hand. Here and there, some had been returned but the majority were lost or misplaced without any indication as to the fate of the ones who had wielded them.

"Her armour," Alistair mumbled, gesturing at the various items scattered across the table. "I, uh, remembered it was damaged. But it's been repaired. And cleaned. I thought..." A long sigh escaped from him and with it, his posture. He gave a listless shrug. "I thought I might be useful and help prepare it. She... She always forgets. But... it's been done."

"Better to be certain."

Alistair snorted but his hand crept towards one of the belts though he seemed unable to bring himself to actually touch it.

"She will need blades. Sten did not recover her weapons and I do not have his skill or patience for locating such items." Zevran gestured to the walls. "May I examine these?"

The man stared about him before remarking slowly, "the Palace will have better equipment, I guess." He shot a look towards the elf, a faint frown on his face as though confused by the options available to him. "I should send for them. I'm allowed to do that now, right?"

"Yes, my friend," the elf nodded as he neared the racks, his expert eye running over the available weapons. It was presumptuous of him to assume he knew what Elissa looked for in her blades but given the circumstances, he doubted she would protest too much. "But I do not think her Commander will permit her to carry better weapons than his own. These will suffice."

"That's not enough."

Zevran glanced round and flashed a reassuring smile at Alistair. "True but trust me, Alistair. I will not allow her to be at a disadvantage." He gestured to the table. "See to the armour and I will examine these blades."

In an unspoken agreement that neither was to acknowledge the real issue, both went about their self-appointed tasks without further remark.

* * *

><p>The room nearest the kitchen was filled with the rumble of conversation and the clatter of cutlery. Having arrived as a group to take midday meal, Argarth had deliberately drawn the three other Wardens around him and had left his former Second to sit with the newest recruit on their own at the far end of the table. The Orlesian Commander clearly intended that some form of rapport should begin to be constructed between the elf and human but as Torih eyed the so-called Hero of Ferelden across the table, only a terse silence dominated.<p>

Since leaving the study, apart from her brief conversation with the Antivan, Cousland had remained resolutely silent. Throughout the introductions to the other Wardens and the measuring session with both tailors and blacksmiths, she had spoken only when directly addressed and even then in a clipped tone. Torih had no interest in shaking her from melancholy; every moment she persisted in navel-gazing granted him another moment to accustom himself with his newly attained position and its responsibilities.

And unfortunately one of those responsibilities was to ensure those under his command were suitably nourished.

"Eat," he grunted at her, tearing at a piece of bread and dipping it in the broth.

She continued to stare down at her untouched plate. "I'm not hungry."

"You survive the killing of an Archdemon and you claim to have no appetite. Cousland, if I could not feel the scratch of your taint, I would deny that you are in fact a Grey Warden."

She tucked her chin tighter into her chest so he was unable to see her expression. Her fingers, however, pressed against the table as she fought against the desire to respond.

Counting the small gesture as evidence of a successful hit, Torih spoke through his mouthful of broth and bread. "We are to travel tomorrow. You will not be excused from any task. Eat, or I will see to it that you are force fed."

"And how do you intend to do that?" she snarled, her head snapping up as she fixed a defiant glare on him.

"As painfully as possible," he replied, swallowing his mouthful before adding, "I have no time for your melodramatics, Cousland."

Very deliberately, her gaze never falling from his, she took up a piece of bread from her plate and pushed it into her mouth, forcing herself to chew.

The abrupt arrival of the Antivan Crow interrupted Torih's intended comment. The assassin sidled in from the hallway, sitting down beside the woman, though he paid her little attention and instead focused on the elven Commander.

"I do not believe I offered my congratulations when we spoke earlier, my friend."

The Orlesian Warden ignored the baiting. There was a new note to the cacophony of taints around him which had accompanied Arainai's appearance. Torih narrowed his eyes at the other elf; too weak to be the Antivan himself, there was still no doubt that there was something on the assassin's person which was tainted.

Cousland twitched, a movement she attempted to disguise with a roll of her shoulders but Torih took it to be a sign that she too had sensed the taint. He glanced down the table but the other Wardens remained oblivious. It appeared that they sat too far from Arainai to be able to sense anything unusual.

"My Warden," the Antivan murmured and as Torih risked a glance in his direction, he caught the softening of the assassin's gaze as he turned to the woman. "You misplaced this."

Arainai took hold of her hand and pushed something into her palm. As the elf's hand retreated from hers, Torih caught a glimpse of a vial before Cousland's fingers closed around it, tightening into a fist.

"Where did you find this?" she asked, voice hoarse.

Theirin's. It could belong to no other. Clever of the Antivan to try to pass it off as hers, though. Clearly, Arainai had no knowledge of the distinctiveness of each taint. Comforting that Cousland had not completely disregarded every secret of their Order. Still, one vial of blood meant nothing and the conversation it looked to provoke sounded as though it would be worth more than the brief satisfaction of grinding the thing under his heel in front of her.

"It did not smash when it was thrown into the fireplace. I retrieved it instead."

As Torih dipped another piece of his bread into his broth, he swallowed the snort with which he wanted to greet the remark. Evidently Theirin had had some form of tantrum after their departure from the study.

"He gave me such a row," Cousland murmured, her voice softening as she surrendered into whatever reminiscence the vial had prompted. She did not acknowledge the Crow's attempt to obscure its true origins and Torih assumed that she had realised that he had been able to sense the truth. Apparently, it did not matter to her at this moment. "It was the first time he was angry at me." Her head jerked up but her focus was entirely on the Antivan. "Angry at me, Zev. Can you believe it?"

"I only remember his reaction to the unpleasantness at Redcliffe."

"This was just after Lothering. Long before we met you," she held the vial up to the light, studying the murky liquid. "We stopped to bathe in a stream, before we..." A hitch in her voice forced her to swallow but she carried on, "just... before."

The Antivan's upper arm moved and while Torih could not see for certain, he assumed that the elf was offering her some form of physical comfort.

Cousland spared a small smile towards the Crow. "He offered to keep an eye on our belongings; me, Leliana and Morrigan. He mentioned about my vial, that he'd keep it on him so it wouldn't be accidently broken. I said that I hadn't seen it since Ostagar. Morrigan swore there had been nothing like it on me when she and Flemeth stripped me afterwards. Oh, he was so angry."

"What happened?"

So absorbed in one another as they were, Torih found he was able to abandon his disinterest in favour of a cynical curiosity.

"I asked why it was so important. It's just a vial, after all. But the look on his face," Cousland shook her head, a frown passing over her face as she recalled the memory. "And then he just said, 'to remember'. What do you say to something like that, Zev?"

"I do not know, my friend. What did you say?"

"I didn't have to," her frown momentarily deepened before disappearing and she glanced down at her clenched hand. "Bandits interrupted us." Without warning, Cousland rounded on the elven Commander, her face contorted as she levelled her accusation at him. "_You_ made him throw this away like some cheap trinket!"

Torih regarded her coolly before remarking, "Cousland, _I _did not seek to place him upon the throne. It was _you_ who decided that his role as a Grey Warden was no longer adequate for him."

The woman sprang to her feet, lunging across the table but succeeded in regaining her better judgement before she could make good on her intentions. Straightening, she ignored the silence which had fallen over the Wardens further down the table and stepped over the bench she had been sitting on, bowing her head. "I wish to be excused."

"No." Torih signalled to Argarth with a raise of his forefinger that there was no cause for concern and the dwarven Commander resumed his booming conversation, enticing his Wardens to join in. "Sit."

Cousland gritted her teeth, the tendons in her neck tensing as she did so. "I do not wish..."

"If you do not wish to hear an accurate report of your actions, do not speak. Regardless, you will remain," Torih gestured at the plate still laden with food, "and you will finish the meal."

She paused, tempted to disobey, before returning to her seat with a slowness that demonstrated her displeasure. Once she was seated, Torih reached his arm across the table and opened his palm. "The vial."

Arainai half-rose from his seat with murder in his eyes when Cousland spun round, her free hand resting against the elf's forearm as she checked him with a hiccupping protest. "Zev, stop." She turned to Torih, hand still on the Crow's arm and Torih hid his thin smile as he caught sight of the tears which had sprung to her eyes, ready to trickle down her cheek. There—a hint of defeat.

"Torih..." Her face paled as she realised her mistake and she hastily corrected herself. "Commander. Commander, please, no."

The elf held her gaze as he contemplated his options. True, destroying the thing would bring him no small amount of pleasure but its destruction would remove any potential bargaining power. Yet allowing her to keep it threatened to undermine his own command that she surrender it to him. Then again, if she retained it then she would remain compliant for fear that he would take it from her. The threat of its removal would remain while the sight of it would slowly poison her, a reminder of what her own ambitions had ultimately cost her. Yes, he would permit her to keep it for the moment.

"Keep your trinket," he spat, drawing his arm back against his side. "And think on the events _you_ orchestrated which have led to it being the only lingering evidence of his involvement in your life."

* * *

><p><em>Many thanks to <em>_**EasternViolet **__for her beta skills – she brings sense to nonsense!_

_This chapter is in part a celebration because it marks the anniversary of my little tale –it's now one year old! _


	41. The Truth Will Out

Their preparations of Elissa's armour and weapons complete, Alistair and Zevran had parted ways; the elf heading towards the kitchens while Alistair was left to wander the hallways without any firm purpose, relying on fragments of childhood memories to keep him away from the more populated parts of the estate. He knew the midday meal was likely being served but he did not feel hungry—or so he kept telling his growling stomach.

His wandering, directed by the appearance here and there of a maid or guard, finally brought him to one of the servant entrances. As he pushed the door open, he gave a wry snort. Instinct or habit had brought him out near the kennels. He might not have spent much time here as opposed to Redcliffe but apparently it had been sufficient for him to know how to escape.

Alistair slipped out the doorway, wincing as his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the day in comparison with the gloom of the servant passageways, and continued across to the kennel runs, his boots squelching in the mud. There seemed little else to do: thinking about Elissa hurt too much and he had no interest in seeking out Eamon just yet. Despite all the Arl had done, Alistair knew he still needed the man. He had no idea how to rule. And while there remained the other Arls and Arlessa's, he knew none well enough to entirely trust to their judgement in the same way he could—or he had thought he could—trust to Eamon. The seed of doubt planted in his mind by the Arl's recent action forced Alistair to turn his thoughts towards potential exceptions. Fergus Cousland immediately sprang to mind, despite his never having met the man. A powerful Teryn in his own right, not to mention the brother of the Hero of Ferelden, Fergus would be an ideal counter to Eamon. Yet all hopes of his survival were entirely pinned on the tattered letter Elissa had received; with each passing day, it seemed less and less likely that the contents could be believed.

Raising a hand to his forehead, Alistair squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers against his temples in an attempt to ease the building pressure. He was beginning to believe that it was too much to hope that anything might go right, let alone something which might directly benefit him.

Before he could indulge in wallowing however, a low whine distracted him from his thoughts and he cracked open one eye, squinting in the direction of the pitiful cry. In the far run of the kennels, nearest the stable outbuildings, two little paws rested against the edge of the wall as a pair of soulful eyes peered through the wooden fencing and across at him.

"Hello, again."

The Mabari pup whimpered and disappeared from sight behind the wall, evidently tired of propping herself up on her hind legs.

Alistair moved closer to the run and rested his forearms against the fence as he studied the little creature lying on her stomach with her head resting between her front legs. She was whimpering to herself though she granted him the courtesy of a fleeting look as an acknowledgement of his presence.

"You're safer in there," he informed her.

The pup stopped whimpering only long enough to greet the remark with a deep sigh.

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth as he rested his chin against his arms and studied her. From the remnants of scraps in her bowl, he assumed that she had at least been weaned before being separated from her mother and littermates. Certainly, her weight when he had picked her up a day or so ago had not indicated that she was especially malnourished and the texture of her coat, a pretty rowan colour, suggested that whatever else she was, she was in reasonable health.

"I know you don't want to be here, but I can't just let you go."

The pup lifted her head, brown eyes fixed on him while her nose quivered, sniffing him out. He must have passed some test because she clambered to her feet. Trotting across, she dropped onto her haunches directly below where he stood, and tilted her head up so that she could fix a mournful stare on him.

Alistair shook his head. "That's not going to work."

Her chest expanded briefly before a small whine began to rise from it, eyes impossibly wide.

"I mean it," he insisted, but hearing the waver in his voice, he forced himself to cough in a feeble attempt to hide it. "It's not going to work."

She dropped her head low and let out another whine.

He groaned, cursing his bleeding heart, and moved to unfasten the latch on the gate, intent that he would spend a little time with her in the hopes that some company would encourage her to settle.

All of a sudden, the little creature gave a start and began to growl. He darted a glance towards her but the pup wasn't paying him any attention. Instead, she was propped up on the wall and peering through the fence at something behind him. Turning his head, Alistair discovered Liahn hovering in the doorway of the outbuilding, eyeing the dog in much the same way he had eyed his first darkspawn.

"Liahn," he straightened, making sure to replace the latch behind him. "She's only a pup and she can't get out, don't worry."

Emboldened by his reassurance, the mage took a tentative step closer but the movement prompted a short bark from the Mabari and the woman stopped dead in her tracks.

Chiding the pup with a low tut, Alistair turned his back on the creature and joined Liahn in the doorway of the outbuilding. "Did you need me?"

The mage shook her head, retracing her steps so that they were looking over the main courtyard between the main gates and main door of the estate. "The servants told me where you were." Her gaze dropped to her feet. "I wish to apologise. I did not realise... Elissa, is she well? She left so abruptly..."

"Left?" he interrupted, a wave of panic washing over him. "But they were due to leave tomorrow, not today."

Raising her head, a faint frown drew Liahn's brows together. "They?"

Alistair stared at the mage, perplexed by her obvious confusion. "Maybe you'd better just tell me what you meant."

"I did not realise that the Arl had acted without either of your knowledge. When I informed Elissa about the Arl's visits to the Chantry and his discussions regarding the coronation..."

He held up a hand. "_Informed_ her?"

"Not like that," Liahn paled at the implication that she had deliberately stirred up trouble for the Hero and King. "We were speaking..."

"_Speaking?_" He was aware that he sounded ridiculous but after everything he and Elissa had discussed regarding mages, the Fade and templars, the discovery that Liahn and Elissa had time to speak was not a welcome one. "When?" Something clicked at the back of his mind. "You're the reason she came to find me."

"I assume so," the mage nodded. "When I mentioned that there had been no word of the betrothal, she fled her room."

Alistair gave a short nod, distracted by another detail. "_Her_ room?"

"Yes." She straightened her shoulders and glanced down at her robes, smoothing out an invisible crease with her hand as she added primly, "I wished to check on the welfare of the Warden. She is still recovering from the battle, as much as the physical wounds have been healed." As though reminded of the event—as if anyone could have forgotten it, he thought churlishly—her hand stilled and Liahn turned an appraising eye over the man in front of her. "As are you."

"I'm fine," he muttered, unwilling to change the topic. "When I saw you with Zevran this morning, you both went into Leliana's room. Why would you suddenly want to check on Elissa?"

"It is difficult to keep track of her."

"She's either been in her room or with Leliana since she woke up. What's so difficult to track about that?" Alistair eyed the mage, suspicions gathering in his head. "Did she come and see Leliana?"

Liahn pursed her lips, as though recalling such a trivial detail was beneath her. It was a charade he recognised all too well, however, and he knew how to read the signs of someone playing for time as they attempted to weigh up just what to say. After a few minutes of strained silence, during which Alistair made sure to keep the mage under direct scrutiny, Liahn eventually gave a bad-tempered sigh. "I told you; I simply wished to check on her. Leliana had no bearing on that."

He was about to retort when the arrival of one of the Dalish elves distracted him. A young man, sure-footed and with chin held high, moved through the main courtyard accompanied by two of the Arl's guards. The presence of the Dalish within the city walls, let alone the Guerrin estate, was one for comment and Alistair called to the trio, stepping out from the shadows of the outbuildings.

At the shout, the guards turned to look in his direction and when Alistair gestured that he wished to speak with them, they grabbed at the elf and manhandled him in the direction of King and mage.

"Let him go," Alistair hastily intervened, watching as the elf's expression darkened and his body stiffened at the treatment.

The guards exchanged a look with one another but obediently dropped their hands from the shoulders of the Dalish hunter and offered their respect to Alistair with a brief bowing of their heads.

"Your Majesty," one of the guards began, "this messenger claims..."

"I make no claims," the elf interjected coldly before addressing Alistair directly. "I was sent by the Keeper. She requests the provisions that were promised to us."

Alistair swore under his breath but catching the affronted expression on the Dalish, he hurriedly pardoned himself. "No, I didn't mean... I forgot, and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry..." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the small movement as Liahn began to inch away from him and he tore his attention from the elf towards the mage. "Liahn, wait..."

"I must return to the Chantry."

"Do you wish the Arl to deal with this request, Your Majesty?" the second guard voiced, gesturing with his head towards the elf.

"No, just give me a minu..." Alistair began, turning to look at the trio before swinging back to the mage. "Liahn!"

So much for the power and prestige of kingship when no one would actually _listen_ to a word he said.

"I will see to this, Alistair." From behind him, Zevran emerged from shadows of the outbuilding. Maker knew how long the assassin had stood there, but at this moment Alistair was willing to concede that the elf was Maker-sent. "Rest assured, I will convey your sincerest apologies to the Keeper for the delay."

"You'll do that, Zev?"

"Of course, my friend; you have enough to contend with." The Antivan turned his head to address Liahn. "And you, my dear. I will escort you back to the Chantry in case the templars are displeased at your tardiness."

Surprisingly, the mage calmed and gave a single nod of acknowledgement towards Zevran. With the situation apparently in hand, Alistair signalled that the guards were dismissed before rounding on Liahn. "Fine, but I want to know what happened this morning. Between you and Elissa."

Zevran cleared his throat. "It is complicated, Alistair." As though to emphasise the point, he spared a brief glance towards their Dalish companion. "Perhaps it is best if you speak with Leliana, yes?"

"You're involved too?" Alistair growled. "It sounds as though I'd be better off speaking with Elissa."

"This may be true but I do not think it is likely that you will be permitted to," Zevran remarked as he indicated with his hand that both mage and Dalish were to begin walking towards the main gates. He hung back for a moment so that he could speak to the man freely. "But should you wish to try, the Wardens are making use of the Arl's library."

"Why don't you just tell me?"

"Alistair," a wry smile surfaced on the elf's face. "I am acquainted with only as much as my Warden wished me to know, but I am not so foolish as to believe that there is nothing else to it. You must speak with her."

"Even if Torih would let me speak to her, she doesn't want to speak with me."

"Then be content not to know," the elf shrugged, moving away from Alistair with a light step. "Regardless, I will see to these matters on your behalf."

* * *

><p>Maps, new and old, were scattered across the tables in the library. Both Argarth and Torih pored over the documents, occasionally exchanging a remark about some detail. Elissa and one of the human men—Damon, she thought she remembered his name as—stood stiffly to one side, waiting for a word from their respective Commanders.<p>

The others—two men and the dwarven scribe, Korgik—had been sent to discover what equipment lay in an old forgotten cache somewhere in the city, once Torih had established that Elissa had no knowledge of such a place. The revelation had been greeted with a curt observation that she may have been better informed had she focused more on what Riordan had said rather than on her own concerns.

Torih had then demanded that she recount all she could remember from her brief visit to the ancient Tevinter ruin but anything she could recall was all too vague to satisfy her Commander's curiosity. All she knew of Ostagar were the two—or was it three?—days she had spent there. The closest she had been to the ruin since her Joining was when she had returned to the Korcari Wilds in order to obtain Flemeth's grimoire. The dank mist which seeped through the forest had been thick with the stench of decay and her skin had burned as the taint flowing in her blood responded to the call drifting on the wind. She and Alistair had exchanged one look before ordering their companions back to the small camp Morrigan had made for herself on the edge of the Wilds while the two Wardens pressed on, protected by their immunity. Securing the grimoire had been more negotiation than confrontation as a result, but Morrigan had seemed satisfied when presented with the book and nothing further was said. The next day, no one had objected when Elissa had set a punishing pace so that Ostagar was left far behind them.

Sensing that the already strained tolerance between the new Commander and his Second was reaching its limits, Argarth had intervened in Torih's questioning and suggested that Elissa should stand by Damon while she reflected on what little details she could remember. She had accepted the opportunity to retreat into herself without protest, taking her position beside the other Warden without sparing a glance for him, while Argarth and Torih returned their attention to studying the information contained in the various maps.

But standing and watching held its own dangers. Offered a respite from having to control her expression and reactions under the ever watchful gaze of the elf, Elissa found her mind wandering towards all that had happened in the space of a few hours.

The betrothal was broken; of that, she was certain and with the admission, a stinging heat stole across her cheeks. She had been cast aside and it did not seem to matter the reason why.

Her hand crept to her chest and her fingers grazed at the vial through the fabric of her shirt. She wanted to be Queen, she realised. A thought never fully acknowledged but one that had existed nevertheless; it had seemed a fitting response to the treachery inflicted on her family. Proof that she would not be defined by what had happened: she would rise above it and show why the Cousland family had been revered. She had thought she was the last of her house and she had been determined that she would not be found wanting.

Realising that ambition had been aided by the encounter with Goldanna. The meeting with his sister—Elissa briefly wondered what fate had befallen the woman—had seemed a positive step for Alistair, for all the pain it had caused him. From then on, he had become more vocal and she had allowed his newfound self-confidence to sustain her own determination. His previous protestations about the Crown had been quietly but gratefully forgotten and it was only when she had caught his look of astonishment at her announcement of their betrothal at the Landsmeet that she had fully understood her own motivations. Riordan's disclosure, swiftly followed by Morrigan's offer, had only seemed to emphasise the extent to which Alistair served as a means through which she could achieve her own ambitions. The rest... Well, the rest was yet to be seen. It had brought her here, to this point, and raking over the ashes now would offer no respite.

Except. Her fingers tightened around the vial and she smiled. She could hear the word echoing around her head, spoken in his voice, and accompanied with the image of Alistair rolling his eyes as he waited for her to finish making some counter-argument to an already longwinded point.

But the realisation that a smart-arsed reply would never come chased the smile from her face and her hand dropped from the vial back down to her side. She could take solace from the hard-won knowledge that however else she had intended to use the truth about Alistair's birthright, the details were coincidental rather than influential to how she felt about him. Yet that did not change the fact that there was no _except_ to the current situation. How could there be? Even if there was a way to circumvent Eamon and the Wardens, her last words to him had been full of spite and anger, and while she comforted herself with the fact that it would have taken a genuine Hero to rise above such behaviour, it did nothing to alleviate the knowledge that she had been wrong to speak to him in that way.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the squeal of the door hinge and all four Wardens turned their heads in the direction of the sound. Alistair hovered in the doorway. The unexpectedness of his arrival took her by surprise. The taints of the three Orlesian Wardens, distinct and separate from one another, still scratched at the back of her head and she could only assume that the ring of his taint from the blood in the vial had interfered with her ability to sense his physical proximity to her. Looking between the two Commanders seated at the table, he was clearly contemplating his next move though the fleeting glance he shot in her direction confirmed that she was the reason for his visit.

"I need to speak with..." As his voice faltered, her breath caught in her throat, willing him to say her name. Not her title; her name.

Oblivious to her desires, Argarth interrupted as he anticipated the request. "I do not believe that is advisable, Your Majesty."

At that, Alistair did turn to her, and an ill-concealed flash of anger provided her with sufficient warning for what was to come. "It's about Leliana."

She bit at her lip, searching his face for some further clue as to how much he knew. She had to tread carefully; she had no intention of lying to him but the Wardens could not know that Liahn had discovered the truth about Wynne and the Spirit of Healing. If they did, it would provide them with a perfect opportunity to interrogate the mage further about the connection Wynne had with the Fade. She imagined that Liahn would likely grasp at the ulterior motive to the Wardens' questions, but it was by no means certain. Besides, the sooner the Wardens uncovered the truth—it would only require asking a non-Circle mage, after all—the greater the danger posed to Morrigan, and that simply could not be allowed to happen.

"Please, Commander," she looked back to the dwarf, summoning her voice at last, "it involves the welfare of one of my closest friends. Please, let him speak with me."

Torih narrowed his eyes, rising to his feet. "Clearly you know something he does not. What have you done, Cousland?"

"I have made arrangements that Leliana will accompany Liahn back to Kinloch Hold for further healing."

"What have you _done_?" Behind her, Alistair echoed the elf's question through gritted teeth. "We agreed the templars could not be told the truth about Wynne!"

"Told?" Argarth queried.

"Is it so unexpected that our companions also knew about Wynne's... condition?" she retorted.

"You were adamant that we could not speak with the mage and yet you are prepared to allow your Bard to inform the templars of your companion's connection to the Fade?" Torih took a step towards her. "Explain this, Cousland."

"Leliana is concerned that something like this could happen again, with a mage who is not as disciplined as Wynne or with a spirit that is not so benevolent. Leliana has a great deal of loyalty to the Chantry for past kindnesses," she explained hurriedly, hoping her mind would keep one step ahead. "But she won't inform the templars. At least, not immediately. She agreed she would wait and assess the situation herself. She promised me." Elissa spun on her foot so that she could face Alistair. She had to make him understand why she could be so certain that Leliana posed no threat to the Circle. Lowering her voice, she hoped that he would _listen_ to her next comment rather than only hear it. "The balance is not as one-sided as you think."

His eyes widened, a flicker of horror surfacing on his face as he caught the full implication of her remark: Liahn already knew the truth. His jaw tensed as he gritted his teeth, biting back a comment which likely would have threatened to expose them all.

She bristled at his unvoiced accusation. "She's my _friend_! And I thought she was your friend, too. Or do you wish her to be disfigured and bedridden for the rest of her life?"

"That's not fair," he growled.

"She needs the Circle. This was the only way to ensure she was able to go."

"You place a great deal of trust in your companions, Cousland." Torih remarked coldly, preventing Alistair from retorting.

Resisting turning around, Elissa dropped her head as she murmured, "what else could I do?" From beneath her eyelashes, she shot a pleading look towards Alistair, appealing to his sense of compassion. "What would you have done?"

He only stared at her, though his expression was mercifully blank rather than filled with the judgement she probably deserved.

"It was my decision to make," she added, quietly. "You weren't able to, but I was. It's done."

Clearing his throat, Argarth brought the visit to its conclusion. "You have your answer, Your Majesty. This matter would seem to be at an end."

"So it would seem," Alistair conceded flatly, and the stare he levelled at her chilled her through and through. "My apologies for disturbing you."

Before anyone could respond, he vanished from the doorway and the dull thud of the door against the frame marked his departure.

Choosing to focus on Leliana rather than Alistair, Elissa had a sudden pang that the promise she had made to visit the Bard had been broken with no explanation as to why.

"I need to say goodbye to Leliana," she blurted out, looking over her shoulder to Torih.

The elf fixed a steely gaze on her as he pursed his lips. The small glance he shot at Argarth revealed that the presence of the dwarf was tempering his response somewhat.

Elissa gestured at the maps. "Whatever you decide, we're leaving at daybreak, aren't we? I need to do it now."

"No."

"I've already given up my betrothed for you," she spat, spinning around as she allowed her humiliation to fuel the spite in her voice. "I won't give up my friend."

The elven Commander bowed his head, fists balled at his side, as he struggled to contain his temper. After a long silence, he spoke quietly. "Very well." The tension flooded out from his body and he looked up to reveal a thin smile twisted across his face. "The vial for your visit."

Elissa stiffened. "You said I could keep it."

"And you may," he kept his tone even. "That is, if you do not wish to say goodbye to your friend."

Her tongue ran across her lower lip.

"Come now, Cousland, you have not hesitated to make decisions in the past" he mocked, all the more potent for the enticing softness to his voice which suggested that there was really no decision to be made at all. "Why begin now?"

Elissa allowed her eyelids to flutter close as she struggled with the surge of emotions vying for her attention. Swallowing, she returned to her previous position at the side of the room and dropped her head so that she only had to focus on the floor at her feet. After a few moments, the scuff of boots indicated that the two Commanders were also returning to their seats.

She gave no indication that she had noticed and instead focused on one resolution: one of these days, she was going to remember how to do something right.

* * *

><p>Alistair managed to keep his composure for all of a few minutes before he ground to an abrupt halt in a deserted hallway and threw a clenched fist against the stone wall. The sharp explosion of pain across his knuckles only added to the clogging sensation constricting his chest however and he sagged against the wall, forehead resting against the cool stone, as he opted for a long exhale instead.<p>

He had no idea where to go from here. He supposed that he should visit with Leliana but the thought of dodging around what he should and should not know was too much. This was not his area of expertise; not when he was at his most level-headed, and especially not right now.

A growl of frustration seeped out from somewhere deep inside, and the pressure eased a little. This was _her_ mess; let Elissa clean it up, damn it. The rational part of him argued that she had clearly intended to do just that, had Eamon's plotting not interfered with their future plans, but as it stood, navigating through this particular muddle was now left entirely to his discretion. In which case, he could only question what had possessed Elissa to tell him. Why, after everything else she had kept from him, had she decided that this was the time and place to entrust him with such a dangerous truth?

Maker, they had killed Connor for being possessed. True, that had been a demon and they were yet to visit the Circle, or meet Wynne and understand that more than demons could communicate with those in contact with the Fade. But to reveal to a Circle mage that Wynne, a Senior Enchanter, had owed her continued existence to a Spirit as a means of counteracting the possibility that Leliana might inform the templars of the very same truth... His head spun.

On which side did he fall? His time in the Chantry no longer held many ties for him; as much as he had wanted to continue honing his templar-based skills, the presence of Morrigan had led Elissa to discourage any attempts to do so. Yet he ruled in the Maker's name; to turn a blind eye to an act which surely undermined the very word of the Maker had to be a sin in itself, even if nothing ever came from it. But that, he knew, was wishful thinking. Whatever else he was unsure of, he could be confident in the fact that it was only a matter of time before the tensions between Chantry and Circle would boil over. And as much as he might console himself with the fact that, even as King, he held no sway to influence such events, he still could not shy away from the fact that the effects would be felt throughout Thedas, let alone Ferelden.

But since that was the case, then perhaps he could look past the madness which seemed to have influenced Elissa's decision. After all, her revelation to Liahn had only confirmed what the mage had already suspected. Maybe confiding in Liahn would prove to be the most astute judgment Elissa had ever made. He had to trust to her reasoning, even if he was unable to see it himself. There was nothing else to be done. Not now. As much as inaction made him uneasy, it was preferable to the overreaction of the Chantry. In the meantime, he might...

"Your Majesty."

Interrupted mid-thought, Alistair froze as he recognised the voice. Granting himself a few moments to clear his head, he slowly straightened, dropping his arms to his side and rolling his shoulders, before turning to Eamon with what he hoped was a blank expression.

"There is much to be done."

For Alistair at least, the sentence was unfinished. But as he eyed the man, waiting for what was to follow, it became clear that the Arl regarded the events of the morning to be at an end and had no intention of adding to his remark.

"That's all you have to say?" he eventually challenged the older man.

"What would you have me say, Alistair?"

He almost laughed. There was a simplicity to the question which could only be admired. Of course; what could the Arl say? There was nothing to be said.

"Then if I may," Eamon acknowledged the silence and chose to move past it. "Let us meet with the nobility who remain. Informally, of course, but it will reassure them that things are in hand. We must continue to establish order amongst this chaos."

Running his hand through his hair, Alistair briefly wondered what Eamon might make of the potential chaos which threatened to run through the Circle. Was there a meeting which could prevent _that_?

"Eamon," he said slowly, gathering his thoughts, "things aren't going to continue like they have."

"If you do not like my solutions, do not seek my assistance."

Alistair reined in his temper, allowing a deep breath to escape through his nose. "Maybe I won't."

It was a bluff on the part of the younger man, but Alistair was rewarded by the appearance of a small frown on the Arl's face as he reflected on the possible insinuations. A moment later, the clearing of Eamon's expression revealed that he had realised the words had simply been a ruse. Still, Alistair felt a pang of bitter satisfaction that he had succeeded in worrying the older man.

"Come on," he sighed, gesturing that the Arl was to lead. "Best not keep the nobility waiting. They might decide they want someone else as King otherwise."

* * *

><p><em>This chapter required a lot of editing – continued thanks to <em>_**EasternViolet**__ for her hard work (and tact!)._

_Angst getting too much? Inspired by a request for happier times from FenZev, there is now a collection of one-shots which follows Elissa and Alistair during their journey across Ferelden as they fight the Blight. Angst is strictly forbidden. The collection is entitled "Early Days" and I'll add to it over time - have a look via my profile._


	42. Unspoken Promises

A rough shake awoke Elissa the next morning. Her fingers bunched into a fist as she prepared to defend herself, before recognising the strange man who jumped back from her, his hands held in sign of surrender. It was Ithyal, the youngest of the Orlesian Wardens. Mumbling an apology, she shot Torih a dirty look as she caught his snigger at her overreaction.

It had become clear during the previous afternoon and evening that the elven Commander had no intention of allowing Elissa out of his sight, especially after she had voiced her desire to visit with Leliana. She had hoped that Zevran might interrupt their planning—his delight in antagonising Torih was undeniable—but the Antivan evidently had other concerns to attend to, most likely the audience that Eamon had arranged between the nobility and their new King. A tantalising snatch of gossip between two guards had informed her of the gathering, and Elissa found herself straining to listen whenever voices passed by the library door in the hopes of discovering some new detail. None was forthcoming though, and as time wore on she had to content herself with the idea that the absence of news was likely to be encouraging.

An undeserved swell of pride had risen in her at the thought of Alistair holding his own amongst those who had once thought themselves to be his betters. But her pleasure was short-lived as she was forced to bear the brunt of an indirect consequence to the meeting. Preoccupied with the nobility, no instructions with regards the altered sleeping arrangements of the Hero of Ferelden had been relayed by the Arl, and Elissa had been left to sleep on a bedroll, on the floor of the bedroom which Torih shared with Ithyal.

She had slept deeply however—no doubt a point of contention for her elven Commander—which helped to explain her response to the abrupt awakening. Now, as she blinked up at the young man, he silently pointed towards the bedside table to a bowl of water and a bundle of cloths waiting for her. Elissa fell back against her blankets with a smothered groan. Strip washes; she had hoped those days might have been behind her. On one of the beds, there was a stack of linen clothing suitable for wearing beneath her armour and she suddenly noticed that the two Orlesians were dressed in their own leathers.

"You let me sleep?"

"I did not imagine that you would wish to undress in front of us," Torih responded tersely.

Elisa held her tongue, grateful for the small gesture of consideration from the elf but aware if she dwelt on it that it would only irritate him.

"Be swift. There will be someone at the door should you need assistance with your armour," he gestured to the other bed where a heap of various pieces had been dumped having been fetched from the armoury.

Once left alone, she obeyed the command to be quick and disregarded the offer of help. She had made a point of sourcing pieces, or having pieces altered, so that it was possible for her to fasten them herself though her fumbling fingers spoke to how often she had done so.

Dressed at last, and with her blades sheathed, she rejoined Torih and Ithyal in the hallway. The trio made their way to the kitchens where a hearty breakfast had already been laid out for them. Despite her reluctance to be a part of the expedition, Elissa forced a good portion of the food down her throat. She had no wish to repeat the experience of chronic hunger which she and Alistair had had to endure on occasion, particularly at the beginning of their journey.

Shortly after the three sat down, Argarth arrived and some while after that, the remaining Wardens appeared, the two humans bleary-eyed even as Korgik seemed remarkably rested. At sight of the men, Argarth gave a derisive snort and Ithyal grinned, making some comment under his breath which earned him a clip from the shorter of the men—Gethin, she remembered. There was little conversation—something which suited Elissa, even if she had wanted to be in their company. Eventually they had eaten their fill, took their leave of the estate and reconvened, once their overlooked belongings had been recovered at the last minute, in the courtyard of the estate.

The sun was still low in the sky but there were already a sea of faces at the gates. As far as Elissa was aware, there had been no formal announcement of their departure but word had evidently still gotten out. It had been a welcome relief to discover that stepping into the outside had posed no significant trepidation considering how she had felt about the sanctuary of her room, although she still could not bear to look at the crowds. Instead, she turned back to the piles of supplies which had been left in one of the outside stores on the Arl's orders and watched as Torih and Damon distributed various items into packs. She was convinced that Eamon had offered the supplies as a means getting rid of her more quickly.

As their packs became fuller, Argarth spoke briefly with Ithyal which prompted the young Warden to stride off in the direction of the main door. With no chore to occupy her, although not surprising since Torih had yet to trust her to complete any task, regardless how menial, Elissa merely stood and watched the young man. Jogging up the steps, the arrows in his quiver bouncing as he did so, he spoke with one of the guards before disappearing into the estate. She guessed that Argarth had sent word that they were almost ready to depart and glanced over her shoulder towards the gates, her initial unease fast developing into panic at the thought of being surrounded by so many.

There was a slight movement of the gate as it swung inwards and she tensed, expecting the whole crowd to rush in, but only two figures emerged on the other side: Zevran and Oghren. Catching sight of her, they approached and she had to resist the urge to meet them halfway, knowing it would only aggravate Torih if she did so.

In spite of her restraint, she heard Torih growl at Gethin to continue with the packing before the elf strode past her to intercept the pair. Taking the opportunity to follow her Commander, as any diligent Second would, Elissa hurried after him.

"This is Warden business, Arainai. You are not welcome," the Commander grunted as the four came to a halt in the middle of the courtyard.

"It would appear _they_," Zevran nodded his head towards the gates and the ever-growing crowd, "believe otherwise, my friend. If you wish to leave the city then you will require an escort. The Arl's guards are already preparing."

Torih glanced towards the gate and she could sense the waves of simmering anger washing off of the elf, but he did not offer further argument and only snapped, "then speak with the guards. We have no need for you here."

Oghren grunted. "Don't give a nug's shit what you need. It's her we're here for."

A warm smile spread across Elissa's face at the unwavering loyalty of her old friends.

Any retort on the tip of Torih's tongue was cut off as the murmurs of the crowd swelled into a roar. A glance around the courtyard revealed that Eamon had stepped out of the main doors in the company of the King, as Ithyal returned to his comrades with his mission complete.

Torih swore under his breath, spinning on foot and pushing past her towards the small group of Wardens now lifting the packs onto their backs. Elissa remained rooted to the ground, her gaze darting across the crowds as the noise continued to rise to a clamour. Had Torih been so inclined, he may have accused her of being deliberately obstinate, but the truth of the matter was that while her head was telling her feet to move, her heart was beating far too loudly in her chest for her limbs to hear the command.

"We will be with you, Elissa," Zevran murmured, catching her eye. "Do not fear."

She was unable to find her voice but nodded instead, hoping that they would know the comfort their presence brought to her. With a slight stagger, she turned round to face the group of Wardens and in doing so, she couldn't help but notice that Alistair was watching the trio from the top of the staircase.

Any further opportunity to mull over of that particular detail was cut short by a pack being abruptly thrust into her hands. She glanced up at Damon—the man seemed to have taken up Torih's prior role as Argarth's Second—before her gaze settled on the pack and she weighed it up with a rueful sigh. It was lighter than she had expected, which only meant that their supplies would run out all the faster, leaving them to scrounge what they could from the blighted land as they neared Ostagar. This truly was a fool's errand.

The clamour of the crowd grew in volume again and, slinging the pack across her shoulder, Elissa looked towards the gates. The number of guards now standing nearby seemed to have doubled and it was clear that their escort was keen to be underway.

Whether diplomacy on Argarth's part or recognition that she was simply standing closest to the gates, the small cluster of Wardens made their way towards Elissa and gathered around her as they arranged themselves into a cohesive group. Argarth and Damon led at the front, Korgik and the other man flanked Ithyal, while Torih pulled up the rear with her. Zevran and Oghren took their place on either side of her flank, just visible out the corner of her eye.

A few moment of last minute fidgeting and then the group of Wardens began to move through the courtyard. Trusting to her feet, Elissa found herself propelled forward, through the gates of the estate and out into the market place. The din which surrounded them was incredible, greater than any shriek the Archdemon had given. She found that focusing on her feet was the only way she could harness the apprehension which was causing her blood to pound in her temples. That, and concentrating on the noise to her right, where Oghren's genial cursing towards various overenthusiastic members of the crowd prompted more than one grin to surface briefly on her face.

Through the city they continued, the crowd swelling and ebbing around them as they moved through the various districts towards the city gates. Once or twice, she worked up the nerve to raise her head and twist round to glance at either Zevran or Oghren, and she caught sight of some of the nobility, faces which formed a part of her childhood, following beside Eamon and Alistair at the back. She wondered whether they had been officially summoned or if, like the crowds, their attendance was a result of impromptu arrangements conveyed through word of mouth.

Approaching the city walls, Elissa glanced up to see the wooden gates, still damaged from the battle, pushed back so that their departure was not delayed for even a moment. A handful of guards, on patrol of the wall perimeter, peered over the edge as they watched the procession file under the arch of the gate and out onto the main thoroughfare in front of the city.

The landscape stretched far into the distance and the sight of it threatened to steal her breath away. The Dalish makeshift camp lay to one side but she ignored it—Maker, or Creators, forgive her—in favour of looking out towards the horizon as a means of steadying her head. She imagined that this was similar to how Oghren might have felt when he first set foot from Orzammar.

As the guards peeled away and the five Grey Wardens ahead of her carried on their way, Torih stopped dead in his tracks and turned to address her former companions. "Your task is completed. There is no need for you to accompany us further."

Elissa had stumbled to a stop a few steps beyond where Torih now stood but hearing the elf's dismissal, she retraced her steps and launched herself at Oghren. Wrapping her arms around the dwarf, she kissed his cheek and murmured a heartfelt thank you in his ear before straightening and making to catch hold of Zevran.

"I think not, my Warden." The assassin deftly side-stepped her outstretched hand even as he flashed a small grin. "We both know how our Alistair is prone to jealousy."

Oghren grumbled beneath his breath, evidently understanding the implied insult but not so especially bothered as to protest outright.

Elissa stared at the elf. "That doesn't matter anymore, Zev."

"Doesn't it?"

Overhearing the exchange, Torih suddenly took three long strides towards her, his hand digging into the flesh of her arm as he roughly pulled her back from the dwarf and assassin. "Move, Cousland."

Even as Elissa staggered back, her body twisting in conjunction with her feet so that she followed the direction in which Torih was dragging her, her neck craned behind her as she frowned at Zevran. His remark echoed round in her head and she tore her gaze away from him, searching Alistair out even before she was fully aware that she was doing it. There, amidst the Arls and Arlessas, beneath the arch of the city gateway, was a distant figure; too far to know if he was looking at her directly but she fancied his head was at least turned in her direction. The image seared into her mind; a backdrop for Maker only knew what torment she would spend the next weeks conjuring in her head.

Elissa glanced back at Zevran. The elf stood, his arms folded across his chest, watching the distance between them increase. As he caught her look, the corners of his eyes began to crease as he struggled to resist the knowing smile she could already see beginning to curve one side of his mouth.

She hesitated just long enough to return the smile before wrenching her arm from Torih's grasp and dodging between Zevran and Oghren. Wordlessly, the pair closed the gap between them and she was certain she heard Oghren grunt as her two friends purposefully entangled themselves with the elven Warden.

As chaos erupted, the crowds parted in front of her and her feet gathered speed. The shouts of the Wardens carried on the wind but the citizens of Denerim closed ranks behind, making it impossible for the Orlesians to catch up with her. Nearing the nobility, she found the guards looking to one another, unease written across their faces, as they silently debated with one another whether to challenge the Hero of Ferelden or not. Disregarding their internal conflict, her nimble feet carried her between them before they could decide how to react and she skidded to an undignified halt in front of the new King.

"I'm sorry."

It wasn't what she had expected to say and judging by the way his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, it wasn't what Alistair had expected her to say either.

"I know we have to do this. I know things won't change. I'm a Grey Warden and you're the King and that won't change, no matter what I say. I know." Elissa took a deep breath as her tongue became intent on making up for its previous inhibition. "Crown and Order have to be separate, but it doesn't mean that's what I want."

The revelation was greeted with fresh murmurs from the now hushed crowd. Whatever the explanation given for the dissolving of their betrothal, it appeared that Eamon had not seen fit to be entirely honest as to the exact reason. It was an opportunity to strike back at the Arl for his deception and Elissa raised her voice, taking a step or two back from Alistair even as she kept her eyes focused on him.

"Apparently it doesn't matter that together we defeated a Blight or that together we found allies in the dwarves and elves or that together we did all this for the good of Ferelden."

Alistair remained silent, watching her from behind a closed expression, but she took it to be a positive sign. Whatever else he thought of her, he was willing to see how this played out.

"I have to be a Grey Warden. And you have to be King. I know." The repetition of the point helped her to refocus her thoughts on what she had wanted to say rather than the grandstanding it had led to. She returned to where she had initially come to a stop in front of him, gaze still locked on his, and lowered her voice. "But I'll be damned if I let _him_," her arm shot out from her side and she thrust a finger in the direction of Eamon, "convince you, the nobility or anyone else that I don't care about you. Or—" to her dismay she was forced to pause as she struggled to swallow the lump which had sprung to her throat, "that leaving was easy."

"None of this was easy," he spoke at last, voice rough. "And it was _never_ a question of what I feel for you."

Elissa blinked, unprepared for the intensity of the stare he now bored into her, before giving a weak nod. "I know that. Now." Unable to continue to meet his eye, she dropped her head and as she pushed the last words across her lips, the humiliation his remark had evoked in her sharpened her tone more than she would have liked. "I. Am. _Sorry_."

"You don't sound it, you know."

She tensed, her eyes still cast downwards, as she attempted to work out if the teasing note in his voice was wishful thinking or not. At a loss, however, she was forced to raise her head and search his face for some clue.

A crooked grin greeted her; it was a pale imitation of the full one which she had become accustomed to seeing on his face but it was enough to reassure her that he bore her no lasting malice.

Relief flooded through her at the discovery that, whatever else she had done, she had not burnt every bridge behind her.

"I meant what I said," she murmured. "I just needed you to know."

A pained expression crept over on his face.

"Alistair." She stepped to within inches of him, face upturned, intent that he not misunderstand the motivation for her behaviour. "I'm not looking for a declaration of eternal devotion." Her mouth crinkled into a misshapen smile. "We already did that, remember?"

He hesitated, but this time she allowed him the moment of respite rather than judging him for it. His gaze roamed across her face before he finally asked, "how did that go again?"

"Perfectly."

He accepted her lie with a wry snort. "Oh? Good."

"Really, it's an inconvenience I survived."

The awkwardness between them stretched out, threatening to escalate, when a chuckle finally rose from Alistair's chest and encouraged Elissa to let loose her own spluttering giggle. Their amusement ricocheted off one another and developed into shared warm laughter.

The moment was short-lived, however. The sound of snarls and indignant protests from the crowd at her back began to filter into her consciousness and the laughter stuck in her throat as Elissa twisted round, expecting to find that her elven Commander had freed himself from the clutches of Zevran and Oghren. She was right; Torih, Gethin and Ithyal had succeeded in navigating through the crowd but the guards, no longer faced with the dilemma of denying the Hero of Ferelden, had readied themselves and were doing their utmost to keep the three Orlesians at bay.

"Love?"

Familiarity meant that Elissa responded to the endearment before fully registering what he had said. Before she could gather her wits to question him however, Alistair leant forward and kissed her cheek. The tales Leliana had woven had led her to expect in such circumstances something much more memorable, toe-curling, earth-shattering but there it was; a chaste kiss. Yet judging by the self-conscious heat radiating from both their cheeks, and the eruption of the crowd, it was a fitting gesture for the current state of affairs.

As she arched an eyebrow towards him in silent question, Alistair murmured, "it seemed the only right thing to do."

Elissa made to answer, but the clamour from behind reminded her that however much she might want to talk, there was simply no time. There were still as many questions between them as before, probably even more now, but all would have to wait. Instead, she offered him a shy smile and delighted in the way his own hesitant grin flourished as he caught her eye.

With nothing else to be said, all that was left to do was leave. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Elissa bowed her head towards him before she spun on her heel. At sight of her approach, the cluster of guards fell back from the three Orlesian Wardens and she moved, shoulders squared and head held high, to reclaim her place at the side of her Commander_._

* * *

><p><em>Thanks to EasternViolet for her help and suggestions.<em>


	43. Proving Grounds

Andraste wept for her. At least, that was how Elissa decided she was going to view the rain. Because the thought that it was raining, simply because, for no real reason, threatened to be the very last straw.

The timing of the deluge had been somewhat belated, however. It was only when Denerim had become a smudge on the horizon that the sky had darkened and the first few drops of rain had begun to fall, transforming the West Road into a muddy quagmire. A few choice remarks had been bandied between the Orlesians at the change in weather, but otherwise the only sound between the seven companions was the squelch of their boots and the tinkling patter of the rain against armour.

Yet the silence was something to be grateful for. Argarth had set a punishing a pace, and Elissa found that despite her injuries from the battle being fully healed, she was yet to regain the same level of endurance. It was galling to discover that she struggling to keep up. If she had been able to draw her breath more easily, then perhaps she could have steeled herself against the physical demands. These were her roads, after all. But Torih walked next to her, matching stride for stride, his stare fixed straight ahead and his jaw clenched. He had yet to punish her for her behaviour outside the gates of Denerim, but his close scrutiny forced her to anticipate his expectations of her, and was more soul destroying than anything he might be able to conjure up himself. She desperately wanted to perpetrate the fiery Cousland temper which she knew still clung to her reputation, somewhat tattered but serviceable, however it was difficult to project such a tempestuous façade when all her energies were focused on _not gasping_.

The lack of air was making her head spin but it was the leaden feel of her legs which proved to be her downfall. It was unsurprising then, though entirely mortifying, when Elissa lost her footing in the mud, slipping and sliding about, while she threw her arms out in a last ditch attempt to steady herself. Had she not been quite so weary, her natural nimbleness may have reasserted itself and saved her but as it was, she crashed to the ground.

Pain exploded in her shoulder from where she had jarred it against a rock and while she succeeded in stifling the sharp cry by biting down on her lip, the prickling sensation in her eyes warned her that tears were not far. She blinked furiously, willing the tears away before they could be misconstrued, and hoped that the dirt which now covered her would prove a suitable distraction from her upset.

The Hero of Ferelden; felled by mud. The humour of the situation was not lost on her comrades and she could hear the muttered comments and low guffaws as they turned to view the spectacle.

"Up," Torih grunted, hooking a hand beneath the armpit of her hurt shoulder and forcibly hauling her back onto her feet.

The jolt of pain was too much and she recoiled from the elf with a whimper.

"Bruising," he diagnosed coldly. "Get up."

Elissa tenderly pressed against her shoulder, wincing as her fingers found the exact point of the pain. He was right, of course; but she had only wanted a few moments to realise it for herself before being unceremoniously dragged up.

"Cousland, it will not kill you."

In front, there was more muted laughter from the other Wardens, and she was certain that any mud on her face would have dried instantly from the heat radiating from her cheeks.

Injured pride rather than calculated defiance shaped her next words as she retorted at the elf; "no, but it bloody hurts!"

Within an instant, the amusement vanished from the others as they sensed the beginnings of an escalation which none of them were especially prepared for. Argarth barged through the clustered Wardens, barking out an order which had them immediately dispersing, and strode towards Elissa and Torih.

He first addressed the elf, his voice remarkably quiet. "See to your needs, Torih."

The elf gave a short nod. He cast a disparaging gaze over Elissa, mulling over some detail known only to him, before abruptly gesturing with one hand that she was to give him her pack. Assuming that Torih needed some item, she surrendered it without protest, sighing as she caught sight of the muddied state it was now in. Without rummaging through it, the elf retreated towards the three men and Korgik and began to divide the contents between them. The final insult came when he stuffed her pack into his own.

Humiliation gave her the impetus to regain her footing, but when she tried to dodge Argarth, with the intention of protesting, he caught her by the arm. She stopped, twisting to look back at him and he deftly hooked a finger beneath the chain around her neck, prying the vial from beneath her leathers. "Perhaps there are other burdens you carry which would be better discarded."

Elissa wriggled from his grasp, her hand shooting to the vial where her fingers curled around it protectively. "Torih knows."

"That was not what I suggested," the dwarf replied shortly.

Sensing that Argarth was waiting for a response she wasn't prepared to offer, Elissa scowled. "The vial has nothing to do with anything. I just slipped! I banged my shoulder, but it'll be fine."

Argarth studied her in silence, his expression closely guarded. Judging that she had no intention of expanding on her flimsy assertion, he cleared his throat and began to list the reasons why he was struggling to believe her. "You have no wish to travel with us, save for what you perceive as an obligation to your country. You are still recovering from the effects of a battle in which you should have lost your life. Your companions are either dead or scattered to the winds. I do not even know where to begin with regards your relationship with the man who was formerly your betrothed. These," he took a deep breath while treating her to a pointed look by means of emphasising his next remark, "are but details that I have knowledge of. And yet you say that you just slipped?"

"Yes," she gritted her teeth. The succinct summarising of her most recent life events was not a welcome one especially when, in this particular case, she had simply stumbled in her footing. "It's got nothing to do with anything else."

The Commander let out a long exhale. "Cousland, you are not making this easy for yourself."

Resisting the temptation to stamp her foot in the manner of a petulant child, Elissa contented herself with a derisive snort even Morrigan would have admired. "How would you suggest I make it easier? You say I have no wish to travel with you, yet it's clear that _they_," she jabbed a finger in the direction of the other Wardens, "have no wish to travel with me either."

"Why should they?"

She gawped at him.

"I will speak with my Wardens with regards their lack of respect in light of your position as a Second," the dwarf continued brusquely. "As for Torih, you have given him no reason to believe that you are in any way worth the considerable trouble you have caused us. That is an issue for you alone to resolve." Stepping back, he cast a critical eye over her—evidently he considered the matter to be at an end. "How much further can you continue?"

Elissa dropped her head, surveying the extent of the mud which covered her leathers. It would have been a simpler matter to identify the parts of her which were clean. The unscheduled rest had, however, permitted her to regain her breath and while her limbs were stiff, she felt more confident of being able to keep up. "As far as needed."

"Clearly that is not true. I had expected to see a greater endurance from you."

"I haven't marched for a few weeks, that's all. Once I'm back into the rhythm of travelling, you won't need to worry."

"I see." Argarth pursed his lips before giving a short nod. "Very well, Cousland. Come. A mouthful of food will no doubt not go amiss." He made to turn before hesitating, fixing another hard look on her. "Think on what I have said."

Ducking her head, Elissa only concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other as she followed behind the dwarf.

* * *

><p>Leliana lay cocooned in the quiet of her bedroom, far removed from all the activity in both the Guerrin estate and the city, deprived of even the company of Liahn. The mage had paid a cursory visit in the morning, seeing to bandages and salves, but had taken her leave with the brief explanation that she had to oversee the arrangements for travelling. She wished to prepare as many medicinal aids as was possible rather than being forced to make do on the road; it required a substantial amount of time and effort to coordinate with the templars and her fellow healers.<p>

A copy of the Chant of Light lay unopened in the Bard's lap. She had asked one of the maids to pass it to her, though the stiffness in her fingers meant that she had struggled to turn even the cover and eventually she had given up, settling for the comforting weight of the book against her legs rather than reading the words contained within.

It was a welcome distraction from the solitary tedium to hear the door creak open. Leliana looked to the visitor eagerly.

Entering it the room with a misshapen bottle clasped in one hand, Zevran greeted her with a warm smile. He set the little bottle down on the table given over to Liahn's herbal preparations, murmuring that it was a fine Antivan export which he had acquired the day before, before drawing the wooden chair up to the bedside. He glanced at the Chant of Light before taking it up, turning the cover with an ease which prompted a burst of envious resentment within the pit of Leliana's stomach. He settled down into the chair, leaning back while one foot rested against his knee, cradling the book in his lap.

"Do you wish me to read?" he enquired.

She shook her head, quashing any ungrateful remarks about to fly from her tongue. It was not his fault that she was injured so. "Talk with me?"

"Of course," he returned the book to her lap and stretched his legs out. "What would you have me say?"

"What news is there?"

Zevran chuckled, lounging back in his chair. "You wish to hear news of the city, yes?" He closed his eyes, drawing his brows together as though struggling to recall any detail worth mentioning. "Let me see. Ah, yes! The dwarves are about to leave—that is why our dwarven friend is not with me, he wished to join in one final drink. Arrangements are to be made for Shale following their return to Orzammar. As for the Dalish, they will likely only remain another day or so..."

"Oh, do not play that game with me!" Leliana clicked her tongue in impatience.

The elf half opened an eye, squinting at the Bard, before a broad grin transformed his face. "Ah, perhaps it is the news of the Grey Wardens which interests you so?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"They left just after dawn," he remarked quietly, his joviality lessening. "Elissa was with them. I take it she did not succeed in bidding you farewell?"

Her gaze fell to her hands as Leliana struggled to keep the bitter disappointment from contorting her expression. Feeling the continued gaze of the elf upon her, but unable to trust to her voice, the Bard gave a small shake of her head.

Zevran leant forward, his fingers curving around the palm of her open hand and squeezing gently. "She was escorted at all times," he remarked softly. "I do not believe they allowed her to speak with anyone."

"I had hoped she would manage, somehow." Her voice sounded so frail, even to her own ears. "I already know how I will miss her."

"A fitting incentive to heal, no?" he murmured. "Then you may accompany her wherever you please."

Wishing to be convinced, Leliana raised her head, catching Zevran's eye, and forced a smile. "This is true." Her thoughts turned from herself to the rest of their little group and the smile faded. Between Liahn, Oghren and a passing visit from Zevran the previous day, the Bard was as aware of the true events behind the breaking of the betrothal as the others. In her hopes that she would have the opportunity to speak with either Elissa or Alistair, she had resolved to address their estrangement in some way. Yet with neither visiting, she had been unable to influence events. "Oh, they did not leave on ill terms?"

Zevran leant back, gently sliding his hand from hers, and adopted a more professional demeanour. "I do not think so. I have yet to speak with Alistair; Eamon was quick to intercept before I could reach him." A lewd grin cracked the elf's face and he winked at Leliana. "Though I do not believe our Elissa would have permitted him a kiss were she not in favour of it, no?"

The Bard giggled in delight. "I am glad." After a few moments however, she became sombre and added, "I wonder what the future holds for them."

Zevran rolled his head back and allowed his laughter to soar up to the ceiling. "I do not believe they have ever truly known the answer to that question. It spoils the anticipation for we observers, no?"

"Hmm." Her tone was deliberately non-committal while she studied the elf, examining him as though he was some mystery to be unravelled. "And what does it hold for you, Zev?"

Raising his shoulders in an elegant shrug, Zevran treated the question as redundant. "I will remain here, in Denerim."

"But do you wish to?"

That prompted a more considered response from the elf. He paused, mulling the question over, before offering her an assured nod. "For the moment. I can be useful here."

A weight that Leliana had barely been aware of lifted from her shoulders, and she settled back against her pillows with a contented air. "Alistair will be pleased."

"I do not believe I have even crossed his mind," the elf chuckled.

"He has had much to contend with."

"Oh, I do not begrudge it," Zevran corrected the woman's assumption, shaking his head. "Were I so rudely deprived of the company of our beautiful Warden, I too would have little care for other matters."

"Zevran," Leliana scolded, her brows knitting into a disapproving frown. "You must consider what you say to him regarding Elissa, especially now. Promise me that you will not cause him needless hurt?"

"Were I to change, it would only underscore the other absences in his life which he must now endure." Zevran responded in his easy tone before finding his feet and returning to the bottle resting on the table. Holding it aloft, he propositioned the Bard, "though I would never disgrace a promise made with a friend over fine liquor. Come, a drink to celebrate all we have achieved and a toast to all we have yet to accomplish."

Storm clouds still gathered around her head, but the frown did not deepen further. "You will answer to me, Zevran Arainai, if you do not keep to your word."

The elf chuckled and pulled the stopper from the bottle. "Now, now, Leliana; do not tempt me with wicked thoughts." He took a swig from the bottle. "To us."

* * *

><p>As the prickle of the taint scratched at the base of her skull, Elissa stiffened, her footsteps slowing as she craned her head in an effort to locate the darkspawn she knew were near. In one fluid movement, she reached back and drew her blades, readying for whatever might follow.<p>

What she was unprepared for, however, was the lack of concern from her comrades. They ground to an untidy halt some paces ahead of her though there was no urgency to their response. Even Torih remained untroubled; he at last surrendered his ever watchful supervision at her side and in long unhurried strides approached the dwarven Commander. Some discussion passed between the pair, conducted in low tones, before Torih nodded in agreement with whatever Argarth had advocated. Straightening, he cast a look over the group before settling on Ithyal, summoning the young archer to his side with a jerk of his head.

While Torih and Ithyal moved a short distance from the group, Elissa stole a disbelieving look at the others as the call of the taint steadily increased in relation to the proximity of the creatures. These were the first darkspawn she had encountered since the defeat of the Archdemon and her heightened agitation, in no way helped by the apparent indifference of her fellow Grey Wardens, threatened to overwhelm her.

Her grip tightened on the handles of her blades and she rocked back on her heels, preparing to launch herself at the enemy.

"No," Damon grunted, spying the movement out of the corner of his eye and begrudgingly turning his head in her direction. "Wait."

"What _for_?" She hoped he could not hear the rising panic in her voice.

The Orlesian Second pointed towards Ithyal. Some way in front of the man, the darkspawn had emerged from a small thicket of thorns while Torih remained at the archer's side, his own blades sheathed, as he continued to speak in a low voice. In the snippets of information which Elissa could overhear, she understood that the elf was imparting useful statistics and strategies.

In a measured movement, Ithyal lifted his bow and drew his arm back, the bow creaking under the tension as he drew back the string. He paused for a fraction of a heartbeat, gathered his focus and released an arrow into the air. Soaring skyward, the tip eventually found its mark in the shoulder of one of the creatures. Beneath the piercing shriek of pain from the hurlock, the Grey Wardens offered a rumble of congratulations.

Elissa involuntarily stepped back. Four darkspawn were no match for seven Grey Wardens, even if they had all been inexperienced recruits, but the memory of the events on Fort Drakon were not so easily defeated.

Ithyal had already restrung his bow and, mirroring his previous stance, took aim at the same darkspawn and let fly a second arrow. It whirred through the air and embedded in the creature's neck wrenching a gurgling howl from its tainted maw. It clawed at the protruding arrow, having succeeded in breaking off the first, before stumbling to the ground. The third arrow completed the gruesome task.

"Hey Korgik," Gethin suddenly called out, swivelling round to leer at the dwarf standing behind him. He jerked a thumb towards the creature brandishing a double-handed sword. "See that?"

The dwarf grunted his assent then added, "mine."

Elissa looked between them, entirely thrown by the remarks.

"Looting rights," Damon muttered by way of explanation. His eyes were fixed on the scene in front of him while his clenched jaw made clear his feelings about speaking with her. This interaction was clearly a direct consequence of the discussion Argarth had promised to hold with his men, and nothing more.

She shifted her attention back to Korgik and discovered that the dwarf had taken a small axe from where it hung on his belt. It resembled a child's toy in the dwarf's large hands and it was only then that Elissa acknowledged that she had been too absorbed in her own matters to fully comprehend the lack of suitable weapons which her companions carried.

Ithyal continued to let loose a flurry of arrows which drove back the other darkspawn from the creature who wielded the coveted weapon. Korgik strode forward and intercepted the lone hurlock. Elissa made to dart forward so that she might lead the dwarf her assistance.

Damon caught her by the upper arm and yanked her back. "He doesn't need you."

Elissa shrugged free of his hold but remained where she stood, watching the scene unfold in front of her. With a never-ending roar, Korgik ducked and weaved between beneath the creature's clumsy gestures, hacking with the axe in what looked to be an arbitrary fashion. It was a battle of attrition; yet seeing the sheer power with which Korgik levied the weapon, Elissa could fully appreciate why the Orelsian Second had stopped her. The dwarf simply had no need for support; not against one hurlock, anyhow.

His victory at last secured, Korgik snatched the sword from the grasp of the dying hurlock sprawled out on the ground before him. He hooked the axe into his belt before weighing up the sword, assessing its feel in his hands, before bringing the blade up close to his face and inspecting it with a critical eye.

"Piece of shit," he announced in disgust. "Always are. Should only bother with the mauls."

Elissa felt her mouth drop open and she whirled about to demand of Damon, "you don't keep your weapons?"

Without bothering to maintain eye contact, Damon grunted, "too cumbersome, especially for the warriors." Something about the darkspawn caught his eye and he turned away from her to address Gethin in rapid Orlesian.

The other man guffawed, shaking his head, and threw back a retort in the same language. Damon relaxed his posture, echoing the laughter, and then looked to Ithyal, raising his voice in order to pass on whatever message the two older men had decided upon.

His response was an ill-tempered curse from Torih, who clearly did not appreciate that the irrelevant remarks of their comrades had distracted his student.

Bemused, Elissa had no choice but to allow the flurry of strange words to fly over her head. She did not believe the remarks were related to her, but she could not be certain. Yet in spite of the interruptions, Ithyal had succeeded in stopping another of the creatures and it lay gurgling in its own taint with an arrow through its throat. The last of the darkspawn was gathering pace and the Wardens fell back, clearing a route which led straight towards Damon and Elissa.

She looked to Damon, expecting him to charge forward, but he only shrugged and stepped to one side, dispensing with the Orlesian as he remarked coolly, "all yours."

Six pairs of eyes settled on her. Running a dry tongue across her lower lip, Elissa gathered her wits about her and held her ground, waiting for the creature to near. Determined that her surefootedness in battle would banish her earlier ineptitude, she moved swiftly—confidently, even—as she circled the creature, taking note of the points of weakness between the ill-fitting armour. Korgik had power but she had speed, ensuring that whenever the creature moved to strike, she was no longer where it expected. Biding her time, she was content to frustrate the thing with baiting swipes of her blade, ever on the lookout for the opportune moment.

When the creature lunged at her, its vexation at being taunted giving way to desperation, she stepped forward with a nimble grace, driving one blade into the creature's abdomen with all the force she could muster. The thing unleashed a deafening screech. Panting from between gritted teeth, she wrenched out her blade and staggered back from the flow of fluid and guts which followed. Seemingly oblivious, the hurlock advanced on her, raising an arm to strike at her and she lashed out, slashing at its face.

The tip of her blade must have caught its eye and the creature let out an agonised squeal, dropping to its knees as it clutched at its face. Taking advantage of its distraction, Elissa hastily repositioned herself behind the hurlock and drew her blade across its throat, pushing it face down onto the ground before the blood could spurt over Damon's boots.

Her whole body shook with exhaustion—that would teach her for trying to impress with a showcase of skill—and her breathing was laboured but she disregarded the sensations in favour of the euphoria which was rapidly fogging her mind.

And then the moment was over.

Behind her, the Wardens returned to their own affairs, searching through the other corpses while exchanging remarks about the quality of items they discovered. Shooting a glimpse over her shoulder, Elissa spied her elven Commander slapping Ithyal on the shoulder and gesturing that the young man was to make his claims on the items of particular worth.

Stooping down, Elissa did the same with the darkspawn at her feet. Some coin. She could never work out why darkspawn carried such things; perhaps they were drawn to the shine. The thought that it might indicate a remnant of their lingering humanity was a thought which was far too troublesome to consider when hovering over a corpse felled by her hand.

Having been thoroughly pillaged, the darkspawn were dragged into a pile and set alight. The two Commanders oversaw the task while the remainder of the Wardens sank down at the side of the road, taking advantage of the extended stop in their relentless travel.

Sinking down beside Ithyal, Elissa did not miss the blind panic which flew across his face. She suspected that the young recruit did not fully understand why she was such an exile among their group—excluding the obvious battle lines between Orlesian and Fereldan—but he had no desire to risk the wrath of the others by opposing the general consensus.

She had no wish to make it more difficult for him and she kept her focus on the licks of flame beginning to rise from the pyre. Curiosity got the better of her however, and she was unable to resist enquiring, "your first darkspawn?"

Overhearing the question, Gethin muttered beneath his breath, "we can't all kill Archdemons."

Damon growled at the man in their native tongue and emphasised the rebuke with a rough shove which sent Gethin sprawling. Ignoring the sullen resentment with which the other man picked himself up, Damon stabbed a finger at Ithyal as indication that the young archer was to respond.

"No." Ithyal answered, obediently. "We encountered groups on the road to Denerim. I am still learning strategies, though."

"You have good skill."

The archer blinked. His gaze flitted across to Elissa, at last finding the courage to meet her eye, "thank you."

Not wishing to cause further disharmony, Elissa only flashed him a small smile and the group fell into a strained silence. No one protested when Argarth ordered them back onto their feet and resumed his punishing pace, the smoke from the charred remains of the four darkspawn curling up into the sky behind them.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks to <em>_**EasternViolet**__ for her enduring patience and helpful suggestions._


	44. Moving Out

In the Guerrin estate, a soft knock rapped against the door of Leliana's bedroom and interrupted the easy conversation which flowed between the Bard and Zevran. Following his toast made with the Antivan wine, Zevran had settled once more into the chair beside the bed and the pair had spent the last while simply enjoying the easy familiarity which had developed between them over the months. On hearing the knock, both looked to the door in expectation, but it was only when Leliana at last called out a greeting that the visitor was enticed to open the door.

Alistair hovered in the doorway, his hand gripping the partially open door a little tighter than necessary, as he glanced between Leliana and Zevran. "Oh. Zev. I, uh..."

"Ah, Alistair," Zevran interrupted smoothly. He rose from the chair beside the bed and gestured that the man was to take his place. "This is fortunate. I have matters to deal with but did not wish to leave Leliana alone. You will sit with her, yes?" Ignoring the fact that Alistair had begun to open his mouth in protest, Zevran turned back to Leliana and shared a knowing smile with the woman, inclining his head towards the misshapen bottle which stood on the bedside table. "I will return later."

The Bard nodded.

Zevran manoeuvred around the bottom of the bed and strode towards the door. "Yes, Alistair, I am certain Leliana will welcome a change of voice." He rested a hand on the inner latch and prised the door free of the other man's grasp. "You have my gratitude." With that, the elf slipped past Alistair and pulled the door shut firmly behind him, leaving the man to stare after him in sheer bewilderment.

Leliana took pity on him and issued a gentle instruction. "Alistair, come sit."

The stark instruction caused him to give a start, somewhat disorientated. He tore his gaze from the door and looked to Leliana, blinking as though seeing her for the first time.

"Come sit," she repeated, raising her arm to indicate that he should come and sit beside her on the bed rather than on the chair.

He crossed the room and perched beside her, his back poker straight.

"Dear heart," she murmured. "It is only you and I."

The façade disintegrated. Letting out a long exhale, he slumped forward and clutched his head in his hands, eyes pinched shut while he sought to control himself.

"She ran back to apologise," he muttered at last, jaw clenched. "That was how we said goodbye. With her _apologising_."

Leliana could not bring herself to pander to his melancholy. If there were time, she would have been gentler; permitted him to grieve for what might have been and helped him to realise that the loss of this rose-tinted future did not mark the end of all things. There was no time, though, and she did not know how else to comfort him other than through candour.

"She had much to apologise for," she replied simply.

In an overly measured movement, Alistair raised his head from his hands and for an instant, Leliana dreaded that he would simply walk out without another word.

"She was wrong to react as she did. I do not know exactly what passed between you both, but I can well imagine her spiteful words and hateful behaviour when she discovered that you would not openly oppose the demands of the Arl." Boring a stare into the side of his head, the Bard willed that he would turn to face her but he remained in profile to her, his gaze fixated on the far wall. Yet although he refused to acknowledge her, he did not make to leave. "And while I do not blame her, it remains the truth that you must do what is necessary to ensure the security and stability of Ferelden. Indulging your guilt with regards to your part in the breaking of your betrothal will not alter this."

He drew back from her.

"This outcome was determined through a variety of choice and decisions, some of which were made months ago. Neither you nor Elissa could have discovered a way out of this stalemate, not at this point," Leliana asserted in a quiet voice. "Now you must decide how you will move forward." Seeing that he was about to argue, a sternness crept into her tone as she cut him off. "You move forward. That is all that can be done now. If you do not, all that both you _and_ Elissa have sacrificed will be for nothing."

Alistair moved his head a fraction.

"Stop this!" she snapped, his obstinacy putting an end to her patience. "Would you prefer that she was dead, so that you might weep and wail at the foot of some monstrous monument?"

"Lelia..."

"Or would you prefer that her ashes were gathered into an urn, to be revered for a time and then forgotten?" She did not allow him the time to react before pressing on. "Or do you thank the Maker that she survived, regardless of whether she is at your side?"

He glowered but did not argue.

Regaining her patience, Leliana continued in a considered tone. "After the Landsmeet, you thought you had lost her completely, no? Now, you at least know that she is alive. She is among others who will guard her and care for her. That is more than you had, dear heart."

"It's not enough."

"No, I did not think it would be. But rather than dwell on your broken betrothal, you now have a glimmer of hope that all that has passed between you may be overcome, do you not? Some bonds cannot be broken regardless of the words passed between one another."

At last, she succeeded in provoking more than a controlled response from him. His shoulders slumped as he shook his head and she thought he rolled his eyes. "That's the minstrel coming out in you again, Leliana."

"You do not wish to believe what I say may be true?"

A wry snort escaped from him which she took it to be reluctant agreement.

Leliana turned the subject from Elissa and towards more pressing matters. "Then tell me; as King, what do you intend to do with regards the future of Ferelden?"

"I don't know!" he blurted out, rising to his feet in frustration. "It's not like after the Landsmeet. I had no choice." He gestured wildly towards the window. "She had left but there was still the Blight. I had to try and make things work. It didn't matter what I was. Grey Warden or King, it was still my responsibility to try and fix things. Now..."

"Now, it is still your responsibility to fix things."

"I don't know how!" He balled his fists at his side.

"Alistair." Leliana pursed her lips and hoped that her expression projected a severity she did not truly feel. She would much rather offer him the comfort he had clearly expected to find from her, but to do so would grant him only a temporary reprieve from the task ahead. "Solutions rarely present themselves without some prior consideration. Why do you believe that this would be any different now you are King?"

"Oh, I don't know." Letting out a long sigh, he unclenched his fists and gave a listless shrug. "They made it look that way, I guess."

A fond smile tugged at the corners of the Bard's mouth. "As will you, dear heart."

"It's not looking that way right now, is it?"

"You need not concern yourself with how you look in front of me," she chided him. "Come now; what do you intend to do?"

"I _don't_ know!" His building frustration regards his own ineptitude, coupled with his exasperation at her repeated demand, collided into a shout which reverberated around the room.

Leliana regarded him in uneasy silence. Her conscience pricked at her; she had only wished that she might travel to Kinloch Hold, secure in the knowledge that she was not turning her back on her friend when he might need her most. Perhaps she had pushed too hard and expected too much, all for the sake of her vanity.

The heat of her shame scorched at her ego and as the last of her conceit shrivelled into a blackened lump in the pit of her stomach, Leliana swallowed but rediscovered her voice. "I understand this is difficult for you, Alistair," she began quietly. "I will stay and help. Perhaps the templars would consider honouring their promise at a later date."

He spun round to face her, confusion clouding his face before a horrified understanding dawned. "Maker's _breath_, Leliana! No—you're going to Kinloch Hold. Tomorrow, as arranged."

The impasse she and Alistair had reached in their initial discussion regarding whether the templars should be informed about Liahn's suspicions surrounding Wynne and her Spirit of Healing sprang to the forefront of Leliana's mind. It struck her how odd it was that Alistair had not seen it necessary to discuss further the agreement she had reached with Elissa. However, since she had no wish to lie to him should he pry too hard, Leliana was content to disregard the curious detail in favour of the current problem. "I cannot abandon you..."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, you're going." He began to pace about the room in a sudden frenzy. "I just... need some time. To get my bearings. To learn. I will learn though. I just... need time. That's all."

"I want to help..."

"_No_, Leliana. I can handle this, you'll see. You're right; things aren't easy, not really. So I need to work out how to make it easier." His voice dropped into indistinct mutterings before rising again as he unearthed some overlooked detail. "Teryn Cousland. The letter. If Zev could track down the rumour, then maybe..." His lips continued to move but his voice trailed off as he concentrated on allowing his thoughts to fly through the options opening up to him. "Even if not, the others Arls and Arlessas might be willing to help. The Banns too, maybe. I just... need time. And some good tutors."

In spite of her earlier resolve to remain, Leliana discovered that she was drawn up in his apparent rejuvenation in purpose. "You had a meeting with the nobility them yesterday, no?"

Alistair acknowledged her contribution with a nod, still pacing the length of the room. "Eamon directed it though. I think there are particular people he wants to cultivate a strong relationship with, but I'd rather just get on with everyone."

"While I admire your intent, I do not think that will be possible, dear heart."

"Hmm. But I at least want to choose who I like and who I don't."

"I think that is more realistic," Leliana conceded.

Alistair nodded again.

"May I also suggest..." she began slowly, casting her mind over the distant memories of her time with Marjolaine. The Game had its own ways and means which would have little relevance to how she imagined Alistair may wish to approach the delicate nature of ruling, but it offered some experience in the precarious balancing of favour amongst the nobility. "... you remove yourself from this estate. To remain here, it suggests that you favour the agenda of Guerrin's when that is not necessarily the case."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

The Bard fixed an incredulous stare on the man. "Where would you expect a King to reside?"

"A Palace?" Alistair screwed his face up. "You're suggesting I move into the Palace?"

"Yes. I imagine that the nobility will be eager to impress you at the moment. Request that each provide some small part to furnish your household: maids, guardsmen and so on. You need only a small number at first; the rest can be sourced from the inhabitants of the city."

"Right." He gave a decisive nod before grinding to an abrupt halt. "Flaming Andraste, what have I just decided?"

A soft laugh spilled from Leliana. "A solution, it would seem."

"Right," Alistair repeated in a daze.

"The letter," she gave one last prompt. "Where is it?"

"In her room. I don't think she would have had time to move it," he murmured, almost to himself. "Right." He began to move towards the door but turned back to Leliana, a frown marring his expression. "You need to promise me you'll go with the templars tomorrow."

Leliana hesitated, biting at her lip while her gaze roamed across his face in search of some clue which may determine the answer to her internal conflict.

A shadow of a grin suddenly flickered across his face. "Don't make me order you."

"Oh?" The Bard found that she was unable to suppress the giggle which bubbled up.

"Well, if you really are the loyal Fereldan subject that you claim to be and _not_ a sneaky Orlesian spy," he observed with a casual air, "you won't argue with the King."

She laughed outright.

"Hey!"

Adopting a reverential expression—the effect somewhat compromised by the shaking of her shoulders as she stifled her giggles—Leliana bowed her head towards him. "I am obedient to the Fereldan Crown in all things."

Alistair muttered something beneath his breath, raising his eyes towards the ceiling as he did so, but Leliana was gratified to spy from beneath her eyelashes that his grin had widened.

"In that case, I had better start doing those Kingly things we've decided on." He restarted his progress towards the door with slow deliberate steps, seemingly losing himself in his thoughts once more. Reaching out to the latch, he pulled the door halfway open and then glanced back towards the bed a final time. "Thank you, Leliana."

"You are welcome, dear heart."

Slipping from the room, he pulled the door shut behind him and Leliana did the only thing remaining; she offered up a heartfelt prayer that the Maker might guide him when his friends could not.

* * *

><p>Early evening saw the rain clear but the ground stretching alongside the West Road remained a sodden mess and prompted the Grey Wardens to continue on their march, seeking out some building which might offer a dry place in which to rest for the night. Their search was eventually rewarded with the discovery of a heap of ramshackle buildings propping one another up on the banks of the Drakon River.<p>

Small contingents of darkspawn prowled outside the buildings but were swiftly slaughtered by the group. There was no demonstration of skill during this altercation; it was purely an exercise in necessity. Regrouping, the shrieks and groans of the dying darkspawn filling the air, the Wardens were in the process of assessing the extent of and injuries they had sustained when a pack of dogs had suddenly leapt from various boltholes, snapping and snarling at the newcomers.

As Korgik and Damon went to attack the dogs, Elissa shouted in protest. She had no particular rapport with animals—her Mabari had been trained by the Kennel Master at Highever—but she understood that the dogs contributed a vital part within this tiny and insular community; that was if anyone had survived the roving band of darkspawn, of course.

Her voice proved to be their salvation. On hearing the shout, distinctive from the guttural growls of either darkspawn or dogs, one of the surviving inhabitants shambled from the security of her sanctuary and the dogs fell back at the sight of their mistress. They prowled restlessly behind her as the woman, drawing a ragged shawl about her shoulders, ignored the men entirely and advanced on Elissa, peering at her with a suspicion that bordered on open hostility.

From her side, Torih snarled a command that Elissa was to speak with the woman while Argarth dismissed his Wardens to organising the bodies of the darkspawn into a pile some way from the buildings. Obediently, Elissa addressed the woman, who continued to eye the entire scene with distrust, in the hopes that the woman might realise they were no threat. It took some persuasion, and a lot of repetition, but Elissa did eventually succeed in convincing her that they were not bandits but rather Grey Wardens who only wished a place to sleep for the night. She chose not to refer to herself by title; if the woman did not recognise her as the Hero of Ferelden then informing her of the fact would have little influence over matters.

Once convinced of their integrity, however, the woman became a whirlwind of action. And so, with the sun dipping below the horizon, the seven Grey Wardens found themselves gathered in front of a large fire in the middle of the shacks, fed and watered with what could be spared, while the woman saw that there was a bed to be found for each of them somewhere within the various hovels.

Elissa had chosen to sit beside Korgik. His indifference towards her was a welcome balm against the sting of exclusion which motivated the behaviour of the others—the dwarf seemed to have no desire to involve himself in any of the matters which affected his companions. True to form, he had given no indication that he noticed her, and instead remained fixated on the tankard he had been given. He had long since drunk the contents but seemed preoccupied with the carvings which decorated the lip of the mug.

Sipping at her ale, Elissa permitted a lingering glance to settle on the dwarf. She found his presence among them curious.

"When I first joined the Grey Wardens," she began, unable to still her tongue yet knowing that she would need to provide some context for what would undoubtedly be a contentious statement, "I was told that there hadn't been a dwarven Grey Warden for some time. Yet you and Argarth..."

"Have been Wardens for some time," Korgik grunted, eyes still focused on his tankard.

She accepted the hint to leave well enough alone. "I see."

The silence reasserted itself between them, stretching out into what Elissa began to imagine would be the norm for the rest of the night. She muffled her sigh and focused on warming herself in front of the fire.

"This is from Orzammar."

Korgik spoke in such a gruff voice that Elissa wondered if he had intended to voice the thought at all. Still, the opportunity to converse with someone who was not intent on ridiculing her in some way was intoxicating and she had to fight to keep her tone unobtrusive.

"Oh?"

The dwarf stabbed at the decoration on the tankard. The flickering light of the fire prevented Elisa from fully appreciating the craftsmanship but it did not seem so important. She had no wish to argue with Korgik's assertion, after all.

"Carvings," he muttered. "Some House or other. I don't recognise the name. Probably long since forgotten amidst the pages of the Memories."

"What would it be doing on the surface?"

He snorted. "Coin. Must've been stolen; couldn't sell it beneath ground, too risky. Bring it up here and sell it based on the metal."

Suddenly, Elissa wondered how many of her family heirlooms might be distributed throughout Ferelden, or worse how many adorned households in Orlais or had made their way across the seas to the Free Marches. Maker, she would gladly run Howe through again for every misplaced item in the entire Highever estate. Treacherous bastard.

"This is why Orzammar is falling in on itself," Korgik continued, either unaware of her self-reflection or uninterested in it. She could guess at which was more likely. "No respect for tradition."

Elissa forced her shoulders to remain relaxed, but it was difficult to maintain a nonchalant posture when it was through her involvement—she had a feeling Korgik might describe it as _interference_—that Bhelen now occupied the throne of Orzammar. What was more galling; she had chosen Bhelen based on what she viewed as a more progressive outlook towards the relationship between Orzammar and the surface world.

Unable to prevent herself from beginning to fidget, Elissa hoped that Korgik might return to his taciturn self before the full extent of dwarven politics could be discussed. Scrabbling for something to say, she chose to reflect his statement back onto the dwarf. "Tradition is important to you, then."

Korgik suddenly raised his eyes and settled a stony stare on her. She had the distinct impression that he was assessing whether there was some ulterior motive to her comment but seeing her wide-eyed confusion, he evidently convinced himself that she had not deliberately spoken out of turn. He looked back to the tankard in his hands and muttered, "it is not tradition for dwarves to join the Wardens."

Closing her eyes briefly, Elissa silently cursed herself. He had thought that she was trying to pry information from him in a roundabout way.

Reopening her eyes and looking back at the tankard, she gestured towards it with her hand. "If you can read these carvings, do you write the same way?"

"If you are asking whether your testimony is written in dwarven," he stated bluntly, "then yes."

Her mouth fell open in dismay. She had not intended to refer to _that_ either.

"Few dwarven Grey Wardens," he continued with a shrug. "Makes for a useful code."

"I imagine so," she forced out.

"I studied human writing for a time," he brushed over her discomfort. "Whenever a Grey Warden wanted a favour from the Shaperate, they knew to bring some written artefact with them. Seen a bit of everything."

"You must have a way with languages."

Korgik shook his head, growing more animated. "Reading is different to speaking. I recognise patterns and shapes. Couldn't pronounce it for shit but if it's written down, I could tell you what it meant in my own tongue. Doesn't matter the sound, just the shape." He shrugged. "What do I care what the First Warden might call a nug so long as I recognise the shape of the word?"

"They have nugs in the Anderfels?"

"Probably. Hairless little bastards. Can't stand them."

Despite herself, Elissa gave a snort of laughter. "When I was in Orzammar, we were asked to do some nug wrangling. Paid decent money too but I only ever bothered to catch two. All that wriggling and squealing."

Korgik grunted, shaking his head. "Herd them all into the Deep Roads. Let the darkspawn deal with the blighters. They'd soon throw themselves into the Void and save us the trouble."

"Who, the nugs or the darkspawn?"

"Both," he muttered ominously.

Elissa laughed properly and immediately wished she hadn't. Torih sat bolt upright from where he had been having a conversation with Ithyal and Gethin, and glared suspiciously at her. A sneer began to twist the elf's mouth and she ducked her head, not wishing to court his wrath any more than was necessary. The punishment for her behaviour outside the gates of Denerim was now noticeably overdue.

Her clear submission seemed to pacify Torih because he did not make any further movement towards her. In some ways, he did not need to; having observed the Commander's evident displeasure, Korgik heaved himself onto his feet and left her on her own.

Smothering a sigh, Elissa set her cup down at her side and wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them against her chest. This was going to be a very long journey.

* * *

><p>When Liahn did at last return to Leliana in the evening, she was accompanied by two templars. Following behind the slender mage, they strode into the room and peered across at the Bard with a cool indifference. Ignoring them, Liahn rummaged about her table and collected the last of her equipment and supplies into a small sack.<p>

"Knight-Captain Joal has sent orders that you are to spend tonight in the Chantry with us," she spoke over her shoulder, raising her voice above the clinks and clatters of the jars jostling against one another. "He wishes to be underway at dawn and does not want to disturb the Arl and his household by fetching you at that time."

Leliana looked between the templars and mage. She had had some suspicion that events were in progress when a maid had arrived to help her dress in fresh clothes an hour or so ago. The young elven girl had no answer for the Bard with regards the cause, however, and the subsequent time spent in complete ignorance had taken its toll on Leliana's forgiving nature. "No. I have no wish for _them_..."

"Leliana," Liahn whirled round, her eyes wide as she attempted to beseech the woman "Please. The Captain is expecting us."

The Bard hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between the two templars as she seized each of them up, before she again shook her head. "Not them, Liahn. I do not know them. Please, allow Alistair..."

"He is not here," Liahn laid the sack on the table and approached the bed, resting a reassuring hand against the Bard's shoulder. "Please. They have been given their orders. If they dally, we will all bear the consequence."

"What about Oghren?" The dwarf had explained the previous day that Elissa had secured permission for him to accompany Leliana, the mages and the templars to Lake Calenhad. He hoped to be reunited with Felsi at the Spoiled Princess tavern while Leliana would continue across the lake and into Kinloch Hold itself. She hoped that the Knight-Captain was not reneging on his promise.

Liahn squeezed her shoulder as she gazed down at the Bard. "Zevran is fetching him now. They will meet us at the Chantry."

The taller of the templars stepped forward and indicated with an abrupt flick of the hand that the time for discussion was at an end. As the man's disinterested stare settled on Leliana, she began to wish that they had not removed their helms prior to their visit. Two eyes peering through a slit would have been infinitely warmer than the very evident confirmation on this man's expression that he had no personal investment in how the Bard might be transported from the estate to the Chantry.

Liahn issued her instructions; her confidence in matters of healing gave her an air of authority to which the templar instinctively responded.

The covers were thrown back and the man leant down. Leliana wrapped her arms around his neck as he gathered her up. With one fleeting look to Liahn for confirmation, the templar negotiated his way through the doorway, mindful of Leliana, and waited in the hallway for his companion to oversee Liahn's final packing.

The spiral staircase took some additional care and thought to manoeuvre down—Leliana was unable to gauge how the templar wanted her to adjust her weight and position which meant that she rested stiffly in his arms, unable to make his task easier. Eventually though, the four of them had made their way towards the main doors of the estate.

Just as they were about to pass through the door, Leliana caught sight of Isolde flagging down Liahn and her accompanying guard. An animated, if brief, conversation ensured although the templar seemed unmoved, taking hold of Liahn's arm and pushing her forward with a blatant disregard for whatever Isolde had to say. Observing that her protestations carried no weight with the man, Isolde spun on foot and stalked away, signalling on the Arl's guards to leave his post and join her at her side.

As the templar descended the outer staircase, Leliana lost sight of the pair and turned her attention to the sights and sounds of the marketplace. She was grateful that the area was mostly deserted, with trading completed for the day, but marvelled at the small signs of rejuvenation which indicated that the citizens of the city were seeking to overcome the trials which had been inflicted upon them.

Despite the short distance between the Arl's estate and the Chantry, the coolness of the evening was developing into a marked chill. It was with some relief when her templar reached the building and they stepped inside, the doors closing against the cold air with a resounding thud.

Leliana looked about from her vantage point in the templar's arms and caught sight of Zevran and Oghren standing a little distance from the doorway, evidently waiting for her arrival. They began to approach but Liahn dodged around and intercepted them with a raised hand and a shake of her head. "She is to spend the night in the Revered Mother's..."

"No!" Leliana interrupted, apprehension flooding through her body. It was silly and irrational, but she would _not_ spend any further time in that room. "No, I will not sleep there!"

The mage spun round, clearly put out by the Bard's objection. "Do not be ridiculous, Leliana. It has a bed. You will be comfortable..."

Seeing Leliana about to argue, Zevran stepped forward and laid a hand on Liahn's shoulder. He leant forward and murmured in the mage's ear. Whatever detail he included—be it Elissa's illness or Wynne's death—caused the blood to drain from Liahn's face and her frown dissolved into wide-eyed dismay. Indicating to the templar that he should wait for further instruction, she pulled away from the elf and scurried away—presumably in search of the Knight-Captain.

Within a few minutes, she returned and called to Zevran and Oghren to help her assemble a makeshift bed near the fireplace at the far end of the Chantry. Once satisfied that her patient would be comfortable, the mage requested that the templar bring his charge through the clutter strewn about the Chantry floor and settle her down. Having completed his task, the templar retreated while Liahn contented herself with fussing around the Bard.

Oghren sniggered and pointed at a bundle of blankets to one side. "That's my bed. Right next to you, Leliana. Me and you, eh? Spending the night, side by side."

"Should you wish to be _wholly _reconciled with Felsi, I suggest you do not lay one finger on me," she responded coolly.

Zevran began to chuckle while Oghren threw himself down on the blankets, grumbling, "you're no fun."

"I suggest you say your goodbyes, Zevran," Liahn murmured, casting a wary look across the room towards the backrooms. "The Captain knows that Leliana and Oghren will be staying with us tonight but he has not given you permission and I doubt he will welcome your presence. Say your goodbyes now; he will be in no temper to allow you to do so tomorrow, no matter how early you arrive." Abruptly withdrawing from the trio in an attempt to offer some privacy, Liahn busied herself with sorting through her supplies which had been cast aside in the urgency to gather blankets for Leliana's bed.

Responding to the insistence with which Liahn had spoken, Zevran attempted to take Leliana's hand, with a lewd smile curving his lips. The Bard stopped him with a glare. "Zevran, if you do not wish to bid me farewell as a friend, then do not do so at all."

He paused before laughing softly, and then kissed her.

"You can keep your distance from me, elf," Oghren observed sourly.

"Ah, my friend, why do we maintain this pretence?" Zevran straightened, feigning distress at the dwarf's rejection. "There is no other save you."

A long list of expletives erupted flowed from the dwarf but before Leliana could scold him, a commotion at the doors of the Chantry drew their attention. Amidst the crowd of templars and occasional Chantry Sister, Alistair was in the process of fielding the barrage of questions and demands being hurled at him.

Overhearing the rising hubbub, the Knight-Captain strode through from the Chantry's backrooms. He marched up to the doors, the templars falling back obediently, and addressed the new arrival directly. The posture of both Captain and King emphasised their mutual dislike, and Oghren immediately regained his feet as he and Zevran prepared to become involved in any altercation.

Their cause for concern was mostly unfounded, however, and Alistair managed to sufficiently appease the Captain, insisting that he had no intention of causing a disturbance. Signalling that his guards should remain at the door, the King disentangled himself from the Sisters and headed towards Liahn.

He made to walk past her with only a cursory acknowledgement when he suddenly backtracked, catching a hold of her arm and speaking lowly in her ear. Yet for all the gesturing he made in the direction of Leliana, the manner in which Liahn tensed then exchanged a hastily whispered conversation with Alistair, the Bard suspected that she was not the true subject of the conversation. After a few moments, the pair parted and Alistair approached his friends, an apologetic grin on his face.

"Sorry. I was on my way back from the Palace and the guard with Isolde's message almost ran past me."

"You have been at the Palace?" Leliana beamed at him.

Before he could respond, Oghren interrupted with a gruff demand, "so when can I expect that barrel of ale you owe me?"

Alistair shot him a dirty look. "When can I expect my kitchens to be restocked?"

"Heh," the dwarf grinned, offering a carefree shrug. "Reckoned you might think it was looters. You got me. Call it even?"

"Deal."

Dismissing the absurd conversation with a roll of her eyes, Leliana pressed on with her questioning. "What else have you done, dear heart?"

"Everything I said I would," he smiled, crouching down so that they were eye level with one another. "I couldn't risk you changing your mind." He gestured his head in the direction of Zevran. "Ask him if you don't believe me."

"I make no promises, but I have made enquiries throughout the city about information regarding Teryn Cousland," the elf voiced with a nod. "The details of the letter are vague but we hope that the Teryn may make his way to Denerim with the intent of petitioning the King to return the lands of Highever to the Cousland family."

"It's not guaranteed but it's a start," Alistair added.

A swell of pride dismissed any restraint and she threw her arms around his neck, ignoring the pain which shot through her body at the abrupt movement.

He laughed, his own arms looping easily around her back and squeezed her close. "I take it you approve?"

"Very much." Her voice began to hitch and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. "Oh, I am going to miss you, I think."

"Only think?" he teased, still embracing her. "It's only for a while. Unless you decide to go on some pilgrimage or adventure or something." He pulled away so he could flash a wide grin at her. "Even if you do, I'll still be here. Doing whatever it is a King does. I'll expect you to come back and regale me with fascinating tales that I can be insanely jealous of."

She giggled and nodded.

Alistair looked towards Oghren and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You intend on making an honest woman of Felsi?"

The dwarf nearly choked. "One step at a time, eh lad?"

While both Zevran and Leliana laughed, Alistair grinned and stepped back from Leliana as he straightened to his full height. "Well, if you do, make sure to send me an invite."

"Invite? I told you; marriage is for suckers."

Liahn clearing her throat interrupted them. "Please," she murmured, looking anxiously towards the Knight-Captain who was watching the group from across the room. "It's time for you both to go."

A flurry of last minute words flew between the four. At last though, Alistair and Zevran withdrew and as she watched the man and elf disappear from the Chantry, Leliana felt her smile falter.

"It is odd to be only two, no?" she remarked quietly.

The dwarf did something unexpected; he rested a gentle hand against her shoulder. Leliana twisted, angling her head so that she could meet the his eye, and found herself smiling. "Though I am glad to not to be alone, Oghren."

* * *

><p><em>As ever, thank you to <em>_**EasternViolet**__ for the beta talents._

_Thank you for reading — each chapter view, follow, favourite and review is appreciated._


	45. Softly, Softly

There were no windows in the rundown outbuilding where Torih found himself spending the night. Yet staring up into the roof, he caught glimpses of unfamiliar stars shining between the loose slats and slanted rafters, their light piercing into the gloom.

Cousland slept some paces from him, nestled in a corner with a blanket drawn about her shoulders and her head resting against the wall. Each time his eyes strayed towards the faint outline of her silhouette, the elf struggled to soothe his simmering resentment at his enforced association with her.

She excelled in her self-imposed role of martyr. Keeping a careful distance from each of the Grey Wardens since his intervention in her earlier conversation with Korgik, she had remained by the fire, sitting with her knees drawn against her chest, her fingers wrapped around the vial, and stared into the embers. When he had at last risen to his feet, she shadowed the movement without complaint and followed him to the door of an outbuilding attached to one of the ramshackle huts which he had decided was to be their shared sleeping quarters for the night.

Spying the pair about to enter into the outbuilding, their hostess—the woman who had earlier emerged from the ramshackle huts at sound of Cousland's shout—began to protest, insisting that she had arranged suitable makeshift beds in the living quarters of the other hovels. On hearing her, Cousland broke her silence and addressed her in a quiet and firm voice, reassuring her that all was well and she should not worry. It was no more than a few words and yet it succeeded in appeasing their host and the woman had then only asked that they might linger a few moments more so that she might fetch them some heavy blankets to ward off the chill.

When the woman returned, two blankets folded over her arm, Cousland accepted them with a smile and thanked her for the consideration, affirming that they were both a welcome and thoughtful gesture when she had already provided more kindness than they could repay. The woman waved the thanks away, though clearly pleased by the acknowledgement, and returned to see to the other Wardens who were now looking about for their own allocated beds.

Cousland had dodged around him and entered the outbuilding without further remark. As he stood in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the loss of the firelight, he watched her stumble to the far corner and, with a slight clatter, settle down for the night. No further words had passed between them.

With little else to do save wait for whichever came first, sleep or dawn, the elven Commander found his thoughts dwelling on Cousland and her part in the events of the day.

Her successes needled him. Her skill with her blades was undeniable, though he dismissed it as inevitable given that she had no other option if she wished to survive the past year. She was familiar with the tactics of the darkspawn and could anticipate their movements, though again he expected no less. At the same time, her failures infuriated him. Her subordination to the Order remained questionable, motivated by factors other than loyalty and duty, but save for the incident outside the gates of Denerim, she had complied in action if not wholly in spirit.

The incident outside Denerim.

A knot twisted in his stomach and hinted at the true reason as to why he could not fall asleep.

The issue had never been far from his mind but he was yet find a suitable means of punishment. He was certain a reprisal was expected—by himself, by Cousland, and by the other Grey Wardens. It was vital if he wished to maintain his control over her otherwise she would never heed his command, but there was little option available to him.

They were travelling; imprisonment was impossible and physical harm unadvisable. Their supplies were already limited, she had no comforts of her own and she was already deprived of those she considered to be her friends. All that she valued was the vial around her neck. Yet while her disobedience grated on him, he acknowledged that seizing the vial could only ever be used as a last resort.

All that kept his thoughts collected was his suspicion that Cousland might have begun to convince herself that his tardiness over the punishment was in fact deliberate—a means of forcing her to endure a last sense of dread. Her misassumption was convenient, but it only created more pressure for him when all he could be certain of was that her punishment would not be fulfilled any time soon. If providence provided, he may be able to at some unforeseen point, but for the moment he would have to rely on intimidation and threats.

Cousland had already brought too much chaos to order—to his Order. It would not be permitted to continue.

* * *

><p>The templars had left Denerim early, just as Liahn predicted.<p>

Zevran lurked in the shadows as he watched the templars make their final preparations. He had no wish to aggravate the Knight-Captain yet he remained intent on overseeing the group's departure from the city. A means of final farewell, as it were.

In the centre of the handcart, Leliana sat propped in the midst of a range of supplies—all of which had been purchased using the coin Elissa had given him—while Liahn walked at one side of the cart, keeping vigil over her patient. Oghren had taken his position on the other side of the cart and the elf suspected that Leliana had insisted he be kept within earshot so that she might prevent him from undermining the Knight-Captain. How long the dwarf would be able to resist doing so would have provided an opportunity for a wealthy wager.

The remaining mages—only five, excluding Liahn, had survived—followed behind the cart, flanked by three templars. Two more templars shared the task of pulling the cart while the Knight-Captain took his place at the front. The templars had suffered their own losses yet the Maker had somehow seen fit to ensure that the mages did not outnumber their guards. Divine providence, indeed.

Given the early hour, the departure of the small group was marked only by the city guards atop the gates of Denerim and the ever watchful Dalish sentinels. Once they passed beyond the two cairns which had been built in honour of Wynne and Riordan, Zevran relinquished his responsibility for the group and turned back towards the Dalish camp.

The elves were in the process of dismantling their camp, but he was welcomed with a curt courtesy and directed towards Keeper Lanaya. She spoke with him briefly, confirming that the supplies he had organised had in fact reached them, and thanked him for his assistance. When he enquired if her clan would require anything further, Lanaya only requested that the King might not forget the Dalish and prove that his offer of friendship had been made in good faith.

Zevran readily agreed with a low bow and murmured pleasantries, but the request gave him pause for thought. He understood the Keeper's request, and why she was opposed to venturing into the city to seek an audience with Alistair. Human tolerance of the Dalish elves may have reached unparalleled new heights following the fulfilment of their obligations in battle but it would be folly to interpret tolerance as acceptance.

He also appreciated that the request had been made in part due to the acknowledged friendship which existed between himself and Alistair. Yet the Keeper had been quite deliberate in her choice of address; it had not been _Alistair _to whom she wished the message be relayed to. Rather, Lanaya had attributed to him a task which was more reminiscent of the duties of a Seneschal.

Many of his recent undertakings could have been construed as evidence of his being elevated to such a position, Zevran supposed on reflection, but he had no use for official recognition or titles. He could do more with less, as it were. To be associated with the right hand of the King would be restrictive. He would be bound by the ethical and moral constraints which, in his view, often hampered Alistair. Such things were all very well—he admired the conviction of the man, if not the sentiment—but adhering to them was not always conducive to achieving unpleasant but necessary tasks.

Even if he was so inclined to accept the role, Zevran fully expected that the Fereldan nobility would strive to convince Alistair to discard his old alliances. He experienced no resentment over the fact. He knew already that Alistair would wish to rule entirely by the rule of law and grace of the Maker—the presence of an assassin, a former Crow no less, within the inner sanctum of his court was not conducive to such an aspiration.

And none of those concerns even touched upon the additional issues of nationality and race. It seemed inevitable that his very friendship with Alistair would soon be called into question.

A frown flickered across his face.

Their friendship had not come easily. A mingling of distrust and jealousy had often soured Alistair against the elf. The distrust, Zevran admired—a prudent reaction given the circumstances under which they had met. Alistair's jealousy, however, had been another matter; one Zevran had thought to be an entirely wasted effort since Elissa had never reciprocated the elf's advances towards her. Still, the man would often brood over what he perceived as some flirtation between Elissa and the elf, yet make no attempt to act upon the burgeoning attraction which existed between the two Grey Wardens.

The events of Redcliffe had provided some respite. With Alistair and Elissa at war with one another, any feuds they each held with the companions had been put aside. However it was only after the Wardens had, at last, lain with each other that Alistair had truly accepted Zevran as a member of their little set. When Alistair had ordered the assassin to join Leliana in the search for Elissa, it had marked more than a basic confidence in the skills of the elf.

His brows drew closer together.

Loyalty defined Alistair. Having given his friendship, the man would be reluctant to disavow himself of it—even if doing so would be in his better interests. It would not do for the King to become embroiled in any scandal as a result of his association with Zevran.

The elf considered his options and came to a decision. He would continue to offer his friendship, should Alistair decide he still wished it, but it would have to be at a distance—a distance which would bring additional complications, however. Opinion of the new King was high—and would probably remain high until after the Coronation—and that might make others less vigilant. Not he.

A new purpose began to form in his mind. It would need to be shrouded in secrecy, known only to himself and his select few. The King would be kept in complete ignorance so as to negate his culpability should the truth ever come to light.

A wry grin surfaced on Zevran's face as he directed his steps away from the Market District and headed towards the dockyards.

* * *

><p>Midmorning saw the Grey Wardens some miles from the ramshackle buildings where they had spent the night. An hour or so before dawn, the barking of the dogs at some traveller on the roads had roused everyone, and they chose to take leave of their host and press onwards. Upon departing, Elissa spoke with the woman and tried to persuade her to take some of the coin she had taken from the darkspawn, but in the end all she could convince the woman to accept was advice regarding the burning of anything tainted.<p>

Walking at the rear of the group, preferring voluntary solitude as opposed to the deliberate exile imposed on her whenever she fell into step with any of the others, Elissa found she had to concentrate to keep pace. Yesterday she had assumed that it was simply a result of her having grown unaccustomed to marching, but the pace was definitely faster than she was comfortable with. She estimated that for every day they journeyed, it was likely the equivalent of at least a day and a half travel with her old companions. It made some sense: all benefited from the increased stamina and strength that came with being a Grey Warden. There was no reason why they should not cover the distance in a fraction of the time. If memory served, she reckoned that they would be due to reach one of the small hamlets which dotted Ferelden, not shown on any map but there all the same, by or just after dusk. The thought that there might be someone willing to pass the evening in idle chatter with her almost made her feel giddy, before she recalled the interruption Torih had caused between her and Korgik the previous night. If he would not permit her to speak freely with her new comrades, she could not expect to be permitted to speak with outsiders. She imagined that it was a part of her punishment.

Her gaze drifted upwards from the road stretching out at her feet and towards the figure of her Commander, walking in tandem with Argarth at the head of the group. There had been a few skirmishes with isolated groups of darkspawn during the morning's travels and the elf had been forced to relinquish his position at her side so that he could continue to impart strategies and tactics with Ithyal. She assumed that he was discussing the young recruit's progress with Argarth, but in truth all she was really focused on was enjoying the unexpected, albeit temporary, reprieve from his scrutiny.

After a mile or so more, however, it appeared her peace was to be more short-lived than even she had expected. She found her focus drawn to Ithyal. Following a drawn out conversation with Damon and Gethin, who flanked him, he was able to sneak fleeting backward glances at her. Despite the insistent nudges from the two more experienced Wardens to halt such behaviour, Ithyal was slowly but steadily dropping back from his companions.

"Second," he said when he at last found the courage to address her, having fallen into step alongside her. The use of title instead of the derisory manner in which the rest used her family name—a name which she no longer held any connection with if their claims about loss of lands and titles rang true—was welcome and she rewarded him with an encouraging smile. "The Archdemon; it's worse than what we have encountered here?"

His question was greeted with snorts from Damon and Gethin, but neither chastised the newest recruit for his enquiry. They were both intrigued as to the nature of this almost mythical beast, though they were not so bold as to ask her about it outright.

"Much," she responded with a weak smile, intent that she would not make a fool of the young recruit. "It takes the form of a giant dragon, for a start. It calls to you through the taint too, so that your head is filled with its presence. And then there's the Horde."

"The darkspawn army?"

Elissa nodded. "It controls them all. The dwarves say that the Deep Roads are safest during a Blight so that might give you some idea of how many are in its thrall."

"It communicates with the Horde through its General though, doesn't it? We heard of two being in Denerim at the time of the siege."

His knowledge, gleaned from talk in the taverns and streets of Denerim, exceeded her own and Elissa faltered. She did not want to be caught out by his innocent questions—and she did believe his questions were innocent—but there was little point in lying about facts that his companions could immediately correct. Besides, she did not wish to rebuff his companionship.

"I wouldn't know," she remarked in a quiet voice. "I was unconscious in the Chantry for much of the battle. By the time I was healed and properly awake, the army were already making their stand against the creature on top of Fort Drakon. I never encountered a General while heading for the Fort so I can only assume they had already been defeated."

A frown crinkled his forehead. "So who led the army if you were not there?"

"Alistair, with help from Riordan and some others."

"But if you were not leading..." Ithyal risked another sideways glance towards her, the tip of his tongue running across his lower lip. "It was you who killed the creature, yes?"

"I did." Her voice was strained; one success, vital as it may have been, did not offer sufficient compensation for her prior failures. But those were secrets and revelations to be closely guarded, by herself and her dearest friends: Ithyal need not be told.

The young Warden fell into a silence, considering the facts presented to him. "I know that Riordan was lost in the battle. But why did..." he hesitated, seemingly unsure how to refer to Alistair, "_he_ not land the killing blow, if he led the army?"

It was a question she should have anticipated, but his frankness caught her off-guard and her mouth went dry.

The unexpected pause prompted Damon and Gethin to twist round to face her, having given up their pretence of disinterest, and all three men stared at her with an open curiosity. It was clear that they did not know the true cost of defeating an Archdemon and given that it was unlikely another of the creatures would rise in their lifetime—and Torih was no doubt straining to hear to every word of the conversation—Elissa had no intention of enlightening them.

"He would have, if I hadn't been healed or reached the rooftop in time," she replied, seeking consistency in elements of the truth. "But once I was there, it was too great a danger to allow Alistair to strike the Archdemon. We had no way of knowing how defeating such a creature might have accelerated the taint within us. Alistair had been accepted as King and we could not risk his becoming a ghoul."

"I see," Ithyal cocked his head, deep in thought. "So, he led the army and disabled the creature even though you took the final blow?"

"Yes."

"If he achieved all that," Ithyal remarked slowly, "then he is surely the better Grey Warden."

Her suspicion that Torih had been listening was confirmed when the elf abruptly spun round and advanced on the four Wardens, snarling at the young recruit in Orlesian.

Elissa stepped in front of Ithyal, physically blocking the verbal onslaught which the elven Commander levelled at the man. What he had said stung at her pride but she would not allow Torih to diminish what Alistair had accomplished.

"You can't dismiss what Alistair achieved simply because it suits your blinkered view of what does and does not constitute a Grey Warden," she snapped, drawing herself up against the elf.

"I do not dismiss the King's actions," Torih retorted, though his gritted teeth belied the statement. "It remains true, however, that a Grey Warden defeated the demon."

"The taint flows in his veins as much as it does in mine."

"Then perhaps Ithyal is right, in which case we should return to Denerim and lay claim to the better Grey Warden," Torih rumbled, the implicit threat emphasised by the flash of his eyes.

Elissa stopped short. This continued threat which hung over her and ensured her compliance was intolerable, but she had no way of countering it. Dejected, she moved away from Ithyal and muttered bitterly, "that won't be necessary, Commander."

"I am glad to hear it," the elf spat before addressing Ithyal. "You will make no further mention of the King. Am I understood?"

The young man paled and ducked his head. "Yes, Commander."

Elissa sensed that she was also expected to respond.

Without even glancing up, she hissed from between gritted teeth, "yes, Commander."

* * *

><p>General enquiries made about the bustling harbour led Zevran to a large warehouse. The large doors were thrown open and an array of crates and barrels littered the ground in front. A man stood in the midst of it all, arms crossed and with his back to Zevran, surveying the load.<p>

"My friend," the elf called. "I am looking for a Ser Ignacio. I have been told that this is his warehouse?"

"Master Ignacio," the man corrected coldly, his expression hardening as he turned to face the visitor.

Zevran bowed low in apology and swiftly gathered his thoughts. This was not the man who had sold him the Antivan liquor. Yet his accent confirmed that this man too was Antivan and the abrupt change in demeanour when he had caught sight of the elf confirmed that the man had considerable prior knowledge of who he was.

On a gamble, Zevran remarked, "the Hero ensured that my contract was rendered null and void, my friend. You and I should have no further dispute."

"I had hoped that where Taliesen failed, the demon would succeed. It appears you lead a charmed life, Arainai."

"I do not deny it," the elf lifted his shoulders in a graceful shrug.

The man remained where he stood, protected from assault by the haphazard distribution of his goods, and studied Zevran with a speculative, if wary, eye.

"There is a profitable bounty on your head," he remarked at last, voice still harbouring an evident resentment. "I am not so rich as to overlook such a thing."

"Ah, but you must ask yourself this, my friend," Zevran flashed the man a disarming smile while casually resting a hand on the hilt of one of his daggers. "Would you live long enough to collect it?"

The man snorted and spat the phlegm to one side, neatly missing his merchandise. He was about to retort, though his posture revealed that he did not intend on drawing arms against the elf, when he was interrupted by a third voice.

"Who are you speaking with, Ignacio? If it's Ser Mito demanding..." A bearded man emerged from the warehouse but the fraught expression marring his face swiftly cleared as his gaze fell on Zevran. "Ser Arainai, it is good to meet with you again!"

"I would wish to say the same but I would not know who to greet," the elf responded pleasantly.

The bearded man shrugged. "You must appreciate my reticence. Your reputation precedes you, yet alas the anonymity you once enjoyed has long since departed."

"As has the suspicion and wariness which accompanied it," the first man—the true Ignacio—remarked in a churlish grunt.

Zevran chuckled, relaxing his posture and removing his hand from the hilt of the dagger. "I have spent too long amongst honourable folk. Let me keep company with the notorious and see what ways I may recall."

The bearded man guffawed, slapping the other man on the back. "Ah, see Ignacio?" He raised his hand and gestured that Zevran was to join them. "Come, come, it is close enough to the midday meal. Eat with us. It will be a pleasure to enjoy a fellow countryman's conversation. These Fereldans are tolerable enough, but there is much to be said for the Antivan way."

Zevran cast an enquiring glance towards Ignacio, but the man had evidently given over his objection to the better judgement of his companion. He followed after the bearded man without complaint and left the elf to make his own decision.

* * *

><p>The meal between the three Antivans was agreeable and the company enjoyable. The bearded man—Cesar, Zevran had discovered—was well-suited as a merchant with his effortless conversation. Ignacio was more guarded, preferring to allow Cesar to dominate, but when talk inevitably turned towards Antiva and a general reminiscing of their shared homeland, he became more forthcoming.<p>

At last, however, they had exhausted much of the general chitchat and in the lull which followed, Cesar rose and fetched three fresh glasses and a decanter. He poured out a generous amount in each glass and indicated that Zevran and Ignacio were each to take a glass.

"To business, then," he announced, reseating himself at the table and taking up his glass. "You have not visited us simply to purchase. What do you wish of us, Zevran?"

"I find myself without a means of living," the elf remarked with an easy shrug.

Ignacio clenched his jaw. "That is not our concern."

"Truly, it is not," Zevran conceded with a grin. "However, what am I to do but return to what is most familiar? I am no merchant, politician, nor advisor. I am but a lowly assassin. One who is cast adrift in a land which does not truly appreciate the skills I can offer."

"Skills which failed you," Ignacio observed bluntly.

The elf laughed and raised his glass in acknowledgement. "I cannot deny it. I failed to kill two Grey Wardens, though I cannot experience much shame at a feat that no other has succeeded in."

Cesar cleared his throat. His gaze was fixed on his drink where he swilled the liquid in the glass but he glanced up when the silence confirmed that he had captured the attention of his two companions.

"What is it that you are offering us, Zevran?" he enquired with a pleasant smile.

"I am willing to work for you."

Ignacio pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, muttering an ill-tempered curse beneath his breath. "You dare to ask such a thing in the presence of a Master of the Antivan Crows?"

"He is correct," Cesar nodded, fixing a disapproving look on the elf. "In everything, we are embroiled with the Crows. We risk everything is they were to discover that we have an agreement with you."

The elf downed the content of his glass in one smooth movement before commenting, "you risk more to not consider my offer."

"Come, Zevran," the merchant chastised with a click of his tongue. "You know as well as we the penalty for displeasing the Crows."

"You have already displeased the Crows," Zevran remarked lowly, his demeanour losing its joviality. "As a Master, Ignacio has failed in his responsibility to ensure the honour of the Crows as much as I failed to honour my contract."

He straightened in his chair and leant forward, setting the empty glass on the table.

"Do not think that what has occurred here will go unremarked upon in Antiva should the news ever reach the Guildmaster." The elf twisted in his seat so that he could address Ignacio directly. "You knew the truth of this the very moment you conceded to the Hero."

The two men exchanged a hooded look with one another.

"The pertinent question is not if you have displeased the Crows but rather, what punishment will be agreed upon," Zevran asserted with full confidence. "What I offer is defence against their reprisal. You may try to appease them as you wish but you may also rest easy knowing that you are protected should they take action against you."

Cesar sipped at his wine. "And what would you expect of us?"

"Resources. Accommodation, a weekly stipend, and permission to train a select few to assist me."

"And if the Crows never come?" Ignacio demanded.

Zevran laughed, his easy-nature returning with a vengeance as he remarked, "ah, but that is the price of peace of mind, no?"

Cesar sighed and reached for the decanter to refill his glass. "We are already aware of what you suggest and your solution would seem a prudent measure."

Ignacio grunted with a decisive shake of his head.

"Peace, friend," Cesar interjected. "We exist on limited time. Running would only alert the Crows all the sooner. Better to remain in Denerim rather than raise suspicions by departing. Our acquaintance here offers an option that was not previously available to us."

The clean-shaven man swore and slammed a fist into the table, causing the glasses to shake. "This will be treated as a contract. There will be no written proof of the agreement and should we withdraw payment then the contract is immediately revoked. Do you understand this?"

"Of course," Zevran acknowledged, somewhat insulted. "I would expect nothing less. Just as I would expect no interference from you as to the methods I use to fulfil that contract."

"Agreed," Cesar cut in, before Ignacio could offer another condition on the arrangement.

The other man huffed but eventually offered a reluctant nod.

Zevran only grinned.

* * *

><p>"What troubles you, Torih?"<p>

Disturbed from his thoughts, Torih lifted his head and refocused on Argarth. The group of Wardens had walked in relative silence since his earlier outburst, but with time passing and boredom ensuing, some muffled conversation had resumed between Damon and Gethin, with occasional contributions from Ithyal and even Korgik. Cousland remained aloof at the back of the group.

The elf threw a cautious glance over his shoulder, assessing whether she might be able to hear any conversation between the two Commanders in the same way that the conversation between her and Ithyal had managed to reach his ears. Her head was bowed even as she kept up her loping stride, and Torih convinced himself that so long as they spoke in lowered tones, she was too far to overhear any conversation.

"Her survival," he muttered, looking away from Cousland and back to the dwarf. "There is more to it than she had told us."

"We knew this already, Torih. Hence why we were forced to be content to claim what is otherwise the lesser Grey Warden," Argarth snorted, his amusement evident in his tone even as he followed Torih's lead by quietening his voice. "What have you seized on?"

"Something she said. She claims to have taken the blow against the Archdemon to protect Theirin for fear of what might occur to him."

"When I spoke separately with him, he claimed to have permitted her to take the blow for that very reason," the dwarf remarked with a resigned sigh. "I was sceptical at the time that he would be able to do such a thing, but given how he was the more prepared to give her up for the sake of the Crown, perhaps there was truth to it, after all."

Torih felt his lip begin to curl. "I place little faith in the report from Theirin. Besides, it will have been Cousland who orchestrated events. It is unlikely that he would have had full knowledge of her actions and intentions."

"Regardless," Argarth brushed aside the elf's complaints and returned the focus to the facts, "it is not surprising that Cousland might agree to taking the blow considering the cost."

"Yet this is what troubles me, Commander," the elven Commander asserted with a fervent shake of his head. "She knew what was required to defeat the Archdemon when she fled. That much she already admitted to when we first interrogated her in Denerim. It means that Riordan had already spoken with both of them."

Argarth rumbled his dissent. "You cannot be certain of that. It may be a detail that has become conflated with the rest. Certainly, she must have known the truth by the time the creature was attacking the city. It would explain her renewed vigour."

"No, Commander," Torih argued, struggling to keep his voice controlled. "How could she have come to know it later? There was no one to tell her, if it was not immediately after the Landsmeet. She must have known it prior to her making the decision to leave."

"Why is it relevant?"

"We have seen firsthand how she responded to him—one extreme or the other. I cannot believe that she would abandon him to his death unless he had done something to anger her or that she knew there was no significant risk."

The dwarf shrugged, unconvinced. "There was always a risk that he may have been lost in the general battle."

"The same could be said ever since Ostagar," the elf countered. "No, I believe that risk was something they had both come to accept. This was different."

Argarth raised an eyebrow at the insistence of his former Second. "Even if it was different, it brings us no closer to understanding how she survived."

"No," Torih conceded, a scowl darkening his features. "It is one more piece, however. We must remain vigilant. We do not know what creature we have in our midst."

"What do you fear?" the dwarf barked out a short laugh. "That she is the demon incarnate?"

The scowl deepened further. "No, her very taint would alert us to that. But we still do not know what happened, Commander. Cousland deliberately obscures details and those she does offer make no sense. This detail about protecting Theirin does not fit with the explanation of the healer's involvement. She is not to be trusted."

"That much you have made abundantly clear."

Torih shot a sharp look at the dwarf, perplexed that the Commander seemingly could not understand the need for immediate action. "We are travelling to one of the strongholds of the darkspawn during this Blight. Regardless of the Thaw, we will encounter some resistance. We do not have the time for trust."

Argarth drew his cheeks in, eyeing the horizon thoughtfully. "Save for Ithyal, we are experienced Wardens—Cousland included. I cannot imagine such resistance that we would run afoul of the darkspawn." His eyes refocused back on the elf. "However, as you suggest, it would be unsurprising if we do not experience some injuries. A head injury may render her memories entirely lost."

"Precisely," the elf nodded earnestly. "We are no longer permitted access to Theirin. We must have our answers from Cousland."

"And you wish the answers immediately?"

"I think it would be unwise to delay further."

"It is true that I am loathe to return to Orlais without taking some steps towards confirming her explanation for her survival," the dwarven Commander let out a long exhale. "Very well, Torih. I concur; speak with her as you see fit."

"My thanks, Commander."

A dry chuckle escaped from the dwarf. "I would advise you to keep your temper in check, but that would be akin to telling the stone to crumble on command."

Torih bowed his head in acknowledgement of the advice, though not its prudence.

"Just remember, Torih," Argarth continued, his voice hardening as he impressed his point on the elf. "You and she are currently the only Wardens assigned to Ferelden. No matter how either of you rage, that will not change. As much as it may please you to do so, do not burn bridges between you without measured assessment. You have a significant amount of time to spend together before she can be sent from within these borders."

"Yes, Commander," the elf intoned. "I thank you for your support."

* * *

><p><em>Thanks to <strong>EasternViolet<strong> for her keen beta eye._


	46. Second Guessing

With the curve of the Drakon River in the distance, and the evening hiding the more unsightly aspects, the village which the seven Grey Wardens were headed towards might have once been described as picturesque. Drawing nearer, however, it became clear that such a time had long since passed beyond the reaches of living memory. The constant flow of travellers to and from Denerim provided excellent trade opportunities and the little hamlet had swelled in accordance with all the services, savoury and unsavoury alike, with which a weary traveller might wish to avail himself.

Unfortunately for the group of Wardens, all looked abandoned. Evidence of battle marred the buildings, the windows broken and walls blackened, while rubble and debris were scattered about the road.

On either side of the West Road, there were well-worn tracks in the dirt, still muddy from the rain the day before, stretching haphazardly outwards to a handful of farming homesteads. Their lands had at one time been neatly enclosed with a mixture of wooden fencing and stone walls but which were now all but destroyed.

Casting his eye about, Gethin huffed. "Looks like it'll be a cold night on the ground."

"I don't understand," Elissa breathed, wide eyed and scanning her head back and forth as she struggled to take stock of the sight which greeted her. This was one of the villages that Bodahn had recommended when he needed to restock or had to source some rare item at her request. It had always been bustling and with the regular influx of news from the south as well as the propaganda from Denerim, it had proven to be a useful location in which to glean snatches of gossip and the like.

"The Horde," Torih remarked gruffly. "Fleeing from Denerim."

"There seems too few bodies," Ithyal spoke up, his voice wavering. He threw a surreptitious glance towards Elissa and she hastily bit down on her lip, his attempt to offer some solace against her distress threatening to overwhelm her.

With a grunt, Damon rebuked the new recruit. "No great mystery. Would you linger if it was reported that the darkspawn army were headed this way?"

"They would have known what happened in Lothering," Elissa added softly, waves of inadequacy washing over her. It was so easy to forget those who continued to suffer simply because she was safe and well. "They would have known that they couldn't defend themselves if they stayed."

"So maybe they have survived," Ithyal offered. "They'll come back."

"Come," Argarth interrupted, gesturing towards the far end of the row of buildings. There was a sign hanging over one of the doorways, fastened only by a single rusty bolt, depicting a crude outline of a bed. "An inn. It may serve our purpose for tonight, at least."

* * *

><p>The Guerrin estate was in the grip of what could only be described as organised chaos. Guards dressed in an array of different heraldries milled about the courtyard, greeting one another with strained acknowledgements, while messengers dodged around the little groups, rushing to and fro as they delivered orders from estate to estate. Inside, harried maids and overburden menservants darted through the hallways, fulfilling the strict instructions which the Arlessa had relayed.<p>

Somewhat at a loss in the midst of it all, Alistair drifted through the corridors, scarcely mindful of the servants as they bustled past.

He had thought that Eamon might try to impede his move into the Palace. Certainly, when Alistair had informed the Arl of his intent the previous afternoon, Eamon had listened, tight-lipped and with a deepening frown. The relationship between the two men remained fraught now it was borne from necessity rather than a reciprocal loyalty. Nevertheless, Alistair acknowledged that he needed to surround himself with people familiar in the ways of politics and in spite of the betrayal Eamon had inflicted on the new King, the Arl—and Teagan, though he was still in Redcliffe—were the only people with whom Alistair could freely admit to his ineptitude for ruling.

Regardless of the strained relationship between himself and Eamon however, this current commotion was evidence of the Arl's commitment to the Crown. Aside from a cursory objection, and despite his pinched expression, the man had accepted the decree and assured Alistair that he would personally oversee to the proclamation that the nobility provide a small contingent from each of their estates to help staff the Palace. Scarcely a day later and Alistair now only awaited confirmation that the preparations for his arrival at the Palace were complete. He had spent his last night under the roof of the Guerrin estate.

Yet there was little doubt that Eamon's eagerness correlated with the continued favour with which the nobles, still gathered in Denerim following the Landsmeet, had received Alistair. During the incessant meetings with the nobility, there had been favourable responses towards him and with time, he trusted that he would be able to become more open with certain people. Freeing Osywn from the torture chamber in Howe's estate had gained the support of Bann Sighard, which in turn had persuaded Bann Reginalda to throw her support behind his claim, and both continued to look auspiciously on him. Bann Alfstanna also remained a staunch supporter of his Theirin blood, and there were others who had offered words of support and encouragement whenever he had faltered in conversation with them. He hoped to forge new alliances as best he was able, nonetheless he was not dumb to the fact that their support was for the legacy of Maric and not him personally.

Alistair rubbed at the back of his neck, sighing as he did so. Maker help him, what a state of affairs when simple kindness practically guaranteed the favour of the King.

His self-rebuke must have shown on his face because one of the maids immediately halted a few paces from him and enquired after his health. Lifting his eyes from the floor, he flashed a crooked grin and assured that her that he was fine. Colouring a faint pink, the maid bobbed her acknowledgement and continued on her way.

Reminded that just about anyone noted his every expression, Alistair lingered at one of the windows in the hallway, keeping his face turned away from the servants as he looked across the courtyard and towards the marketplace.

His head swam with the number of thoughts clamouring for attention. How was it he could keep his cool in battle, continually anticipate the greatest threat to life and limb while adhering to a predetermined strategy, and yet he could not recall the intricate political alliances between noble houses while maintaining a coherent thought process?

Resting his palms against the slope of the windowsill, Alistair dug his fingers against the rough stone. The feel of it helped him to ground his thinking and push back against the flare of panic which threatened to obliterate each and every thought.

Banns. Yes, that was it—he had been focusing on the Banns and their support. Their combined support was important but it was the arlings and teyrnirs which would prove to be the determining factor in the success of his rule. A fact made all the more complicated by the reality that Amaranthine and Denerim had both lost their Arls.

His gaze grew unseeing as he turned his focus inward and sifted through the excess of information which Eamon had inflicted on him over the days since the defeat of the Archdemon. If he recalled correctly, the only surviving Arls were Wulff, who controlled West Hills; Bryland, who controlled South Reach and had some banns pledged to him; and of course Eamon with Redcliffe.

As for the teyrnirs, both Highever and Gwaren were currently without a Teyrn and no successor was immediately to hand. Once again, Alistair found himself wishing that Fergus Cousland might be found so that his family lands could be restored to him. It would be one less decision to contend with while demonstrating that Alistair was keen to adhere to generational legacies rather than simply imposing his will as and where he pleased. As for Gwaren—well, guidance from Teyrn Cousland over that matter most certainly would not go amiss.

Alistair leant his forehead against the cool glass of the window, his breath misting against the pane, and scrunched his eyes shut. Maker, if he were to wish for things, he may as well wish for it all: Elissa to return to his side, the Orlesian Grey Wardens to leave them both in peace and the issue of the heir resolved. That would about cover it, he reckoned. Everything else would seem straightforward in comparison.

A polite clearing of the throat behind him interrupted his wallowing. He twisted round to find Isolde, her hands clasped neatly in front of her even as she cast an eye over his appearance. He had the disconcerting feeling that even now she was assessing whether he met with her approval.

"My Lady," he greeted her in as bland a tone as he could muster, resisting the urge to pull at his shirt in an attempt to hide any creases or glance down at his boots with the sudden dread that he had tread mud through the estate.

She bowed her head. "I am to inform you that your guard are ready for you, whenever you should wish to depart."

"Oh. Thank you." He cleared his throat and made to edge around the woman.

"If I may have a moment?" Isolde blurted out. Her hand rose as though to catch a hold of him, but she remembered herself mid-movement. Dropping her hand back to her side, she beseeched him with a plaintive gaze.

He halted, cursing his bleeding heart, and offered her a nod that she may continue with whatever she wished to say.

Rather than speak openly, the Arlessa looked about her and beckoned that he should join her in one of the nearby rooms. With a heavy heart, he followed after her and shut the door to prevent any of the servants from overhearing what had all the markings of being an entirely unpleasant conversation.

"Please, do not judge my husband harshly," Isolde insisted without preamble. "He did what he thought was best."

Alistair sought refuge in a cold silence. Nothing further had been said about the Arl's deceit since the brief stand-off between the two men directly after Alistair had spoken with Elissa in front of the Warden-Commanders. Whatever else he might want to say in future, however, would be kept between himself and Eamon, and certainly not conveyed through the Arlessa.

Interpreting his silence as outright refusal, her expression hardened even while her tone remained appeasing. "We have both lost that which we hold most dear."

His eyes dropped to the floor as he wrestled with his conscience. That decision made all those months ago in Redcliffe still had the power to rankle him. It was the one decision Elissa had made which had truly threatened to drive them apart, more so than anything else which had happened. A great number of bitter hateful words had passed between them before Alistair had at last convinced himself that her decision had not been driven by malicious intent and that she had truly believed killing Connor was the only way to counter the threat from the demon. Perhaps the lyrium ritual might have worked, and the demon might have been bargained with, but there had been no way to know for certain. The only certainty at that point, as they stood in the hall of Redcliffe Castle surrounded by undead corpses, was the devastating damage the demon could wreak through its connection with Connor. Break the connection, break the control; that had been the thinking which had formed Elissa's decision.

As the silence stretched on, his skin prickled and he felt the scalding heat of Isolde's gaze piercing through him. He wondered if the unspoken accusations he perceived were truly intended or simply a product of his own lingering sense of guilt.

"I am truly sorry for the..." Alistair steeled himself, sensing that any euphemism would provoke an adverse reaction, "...death of your son, Lady Isolde. But to use Connor as an excuse for the recent behaviour of the Arl does the memory of your son a great disservice. I cannot believe his absence is any easier to bear simply because Elissa and I are separated."

The words had none of his usual genial inflection but he felt compelled to respond in as formal a manner as possible. He did not know how else to relate to this woman, the bane of his childhood, and yet with the presumed difficulties of his producing an heir with the woman he loved so recently held aloft, he unearthed a new dimension to the compassion he held for Isolde. He could not find it in himself to like her, but he felt he was now in a better position to fully appreciate the extent to which her grief might reach. If stilted and formal exchanges provided some form of comfort for her, he would do so.

"I would not dare contradict the belief of my King," she replied, eyes flashing and seemingly unaffected by his attempt to placate her. "However, I did not only refer to Eamon and I. We," she pressed her hand flat against her chest before gesturing towards him with an open palm, "have lost that which we hold most dear. It does not matter that some may argue that your loss cannot hope to measure against mine. We both know the sacrifice we would make to have them return to our side where they belong."

Alistair fought to keep his expression guarded. This was a treacherous subject.

"I ask only that you do not punish my husband for an act that you know you would not have hesitated to surpass, had you thought that it might offer some relief from your loss."

"So I'm to be grateful that he only traded my betrothed and did not arrange to have her murdered?"

He realised the mistake the moment after his tongue had formed the words. Unwittingly, he had conceded the admission she most wanted from him; that Connor had been murdered.

Isolde squeezed her eyes shut. "It is a hard truth to bear. I would not wish the knowledge of that betrayal on anyone."

"My Lady Isolde," he began, voice low. He only wanted to have the entire city of Denerim between himself and this woman, nothing else would suffice. "Only a matter of days ago, you begged me to persuade Eamon to agree that Teagan should be granted the Arling of Redcliffe. Now you wish that I do not do so?"

"These matters are for you alone to decide," she replied, dodging the question. "I only beg that you do not inflict further anguish on our family."

He hoped his lip was not curling. "I fail to see how retaining your social position eases your grief, Arlessa. If I had been able, I would have readily given up mine." Before she could retort, Alistair bitterly added, "regardless, Eamon will remain Arl of Redcliffe."

A shadow flew across her face, but she was quick to master it. For a moment, Alistair wondered why she seemed displeased until the thought occurred to him that perhaps Isolde had hoped that, as royal advisor, her husband might have been elevated to the position of Teyrn. The news that Fergus Cousland had survived Ostagar was not widespread—or so Zevran had reported after he had consulted with his various contacts within the city. Alistair doubted the Guerrins would wish to be removed as far as Gwaren, but Highever could have seemed a much more agreeable proposition. So much for her concern about Eamon's well-being.

"It is of some comfort to me to hear you promise that we will retain our position in Redcliffe," Isolde bowed her head, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had given herself away, before letting out a long exhale. "I thank you for such a base consideration and I trust to your integrity that you would not tell me only what you think I might wish to hear."

He quashed the urge to remark that he had worked out precisely what she wanted to hear, and that he had no intention of indulging it. Instead, Alistair stepped back, his fingers searching out the handle of the door even as he continued to keep his attention directed on the Arlessa. "If that is all, may I leave now?"

Her lip twitched but she controlled the movement before it could develop into the smirk he had all too often seen on her face. Now, as then, it was evidence that his ignorance of airs and graces amused her. He could believe that it had also offered some reassurance when her suspicions regarding his parentage had been at their height. After all, even if he was Guerrin flesh and blood, what use would her husband have for so uncouth a child?

Indulging the child within, Alistair did what he had always wished he could have done during his time at Redcliffe. Without waiting for her dismissal, he turned on heel and walked out.

* * *

><p>The inn in the abandoned village had suffered its share of damage and looting yet the upper rooms remained in a somewhat habitable state. Between them, the Wardens had gathered the majority of broken and splintered wood which lay throughout the building and a fire now burned brightly in the hearth of the largest bedroom.<p>

Only Torih, Korgik and Damon remained in the room. Once the fire had been built, Argarth had taken Ithyal to fetch fresh water from the river while Cousland had requested permission to patrol through what remained of the village. Her mawkishness had led her to claim the privilege, wishing to rid the village of any lingering darkspawn in an effort to ease the guilt in her soul or some such nonsense.

It had suited his purpose to be rid of her, and so Torih had agreed the request with the stipulation that Gethin accompany her. As much as the elf wished to wring the truth from Cousland with regards her survival and the increasing number of inconsistencies in her explanation, he was beginning to understand—having reflected on the words of warning from Argarth earlier—that Cousland would not buckle under simple intimidation or interrogation. If anything, it would only strengthen her resolve. No, he would need to familiarise himself with the events as she had described them and pick out the mismatched details. Having done that, he would instruct Cousland to once more spin her tale and then he would catch her out when drilling down into specifics.

Having set Damon to the task of preparing their scant meal, the elven Commander righted one of the chairs which had been thrown aside and set it at the table opposite Korgik. The dwarf raised his eyes from the scrap of vellum he held between finger and thumb and grunted a greeting.

"Why must you insist on torturing yourself?" the elf asked with a trace of irritation, recognising the dirtied vellum.

He knew a little of the former Shaper's past, details which had been teased out over years. One such detail was that his disgrace within Orzammar which had led to his joining the Grey Wardens involved some revelation regarding the ancestors of a prestigious House. The vellum was the only remaining evidence of a fact which Korgik had otherwise destroyed all trace of from the Memories. As far as the dwarven empire was concerned, whatever truth was contained on the paper had never existed.

"I may be of the stone, but my heart is not," Korgik responded tartly.

"Those times have passed. Let them rest."

Korgik rolled his eyes but folded the vellum along its creased lines and returned it to his pocket. "We did not all come to the Order with a spring in our step and a song in our hearts as you did."

"Hardly a song," the elf groused, but held out his cup to share. In the cellars, they had discovered an assortment of food barrels which had spoiled as a result of the damage from earlier looting. Tucked in the dank corner, however, there had been a half barrel of mead. Cheap, it threatened to strip the skin from the tongue yet the warmth which spread through the body as it made its way down the throat was worth losing some taste buds over.

Korgik greeted the objection with a dry chuckle and accepted the peace offering. He threw the liquor back without hesitation, and for a moment Torih simply studied his long-standing comrade as he marvelled at the dwarven constitution.

Casting his eye about the room and confirming that they were out of earshot of Damon, Korgik chose to forego his usual observance of rank. "What assistance can I offer tonight, Torih?"

The elf hunched closer over the table so that they might speak in lowered tones. His request was simple: that the dwarf recount the explanation Cousland have provided while in Denerim. The original documents were stored securely in the cache in Denerim, but Torih was well-acquainted with Korgik's memory and placed his faith in the dwarf's recollection of her testimony.

Between them, they succeeded in reconstructing the account. Having succumbed to some tainted poison from an arrow head embedded in her shoulder, Cousland had been healed by her pet Circle healer. The mage had a permanent connection with a Spirit of Healing and it was this unique bond which Cousland claimed had provided the spiritual power required to heal an otherwise fatal injury. She had then made her way through the city, narrowly avoiding death when she was tricked by an ambush within the Fort, and had eventually reached the rooftop of Fort Drakon. With Theirin's assistance, she then delivered the killing blow to the creature and had been knocked unconscious. Her rationale for her survival was that the extensive healing from the mage had somehow maintained a connection between herself and the Fade which had saved her from what should have been a certain death.

With her account summarised so succinctly, Torih came to the personal conclusion that this lingering connection to the Fade acting as a conduit for the demon's soul was impossible—that was an ability reserved only for mages. No matter what base talent she had for disorientation, Cousland was no mage. Furthermore, the demon passing into the Fade would surely have resulted in immediate ramifications which would have been experienced by any of the mages upon the rooftop. Despite the strength of his own convictions however, Torih knew he could not prove his suspicions, so he was forced to remain with the more earthly matters in her tale.

"What can we understand by this, Korgik? That she anticipated she would die?"

"She does not argue that her survival was unexpected," the dwarf observed.

Torih hummed, considering the point. In the eyewitness reports he had gathered while Argath had debriefed Theirin corroborated that the newly accepted King had reacted as though he believed Cousland had died. He must have believed that the blow meant certain death.

In the discussion with Ithyal earlier, Cousland had affirmed that she too had acted in the assumption that the killing blow meant death. True, she had couched the truth in simpler terms—her presence of mind in obscuring the truth from the more junior Wardens had not gone unnoticed—but even her explanation of fearing what unknown risk lay in taking the blow demonstrated her understanding that there had been substantial risk.

Why, then, had Cousland left if she understood the true cost of victory? Torih refused to accommodate the idea that she had simply abandoned Theirin to his death. After all, what act could Theirin have committed on the eve of his betrothal which would result in such a desire?

No, Cousland had left because she did not believe that Theirin would die if he took the blow. Was it possible that Riordan had somehow inferred that the sex of the Warden who delivered the final blow was somehow a factor to survival? That the necessary sacrifice was somehow reserved only for women rather than men?

His derision reached new heights and with a snort, Torih dismissed the notion. No, the heroes of the previous four Blights were well-noted in lore, and they had not all been men.

Perhaps it was not so important the reason why she left but rather the fact that, when she returned, she had felt compelled to reverse her prior decision and insisted on taking the blow. More than that, she did so in the belief that it was necessary to protect him. What had changed for her to believe that Theirin was in fact at risk?

Hunching over the table, the elf cradled his head in his hands. It was a pertinent question, but only in relation to understanding the prior events. Something _had_ changed but first he must understand her initial disregard for the truth which Riordan had disclosed. Both he and the human Senior Warden had been briefed together by Argarth—while Korgik knew the truth from his research in the Shaperate—and there had been no suggestion that death was anything but an inevitable consequence. Torih trusted that Riordan would not have fostered false hope in the Fereldan recruits.

Back to his initial question, then: _why_ had Cousland left? She claimed that she had not wanted to die but that did not explain why she had forsaken everything. To shirk the final blow, that might have fitted with her account but to _leave_, to desert her cause with no second glance, and to do so without the knowledge of either her companions or lover...

Torih jerked his head from his hands, sitting bolt upright. The wooden joints of the chair creaked in protest of the abrupt movement but he ignored it as he fixed an unblinking gaze on his dwarven companion. "We are certain that Cousland and Theirin were lovers?"

"He was in a considerable state of disarray when we attended on her that morning in the Arl's estate," Korgik remarked, keeping his voice low even as Damon glanced over at the unexpected sound of the Commander's exhilaration. "We had to wait a few minutes because he claimed that she was not dressed."

"Hardly a chaste arrangement, but not definitive."

The dwarf barked out a laugh. "You refute her survival even though she lives and breathes but you consider the possibility that they remained chaste?"

"Fine." Seeing his long-term companion so amused brought a rueful grin to Torih's face. "Let us consider it as sufficient evidence of a physical relationship. If they were not opposed to lying together, it would be exceptional that they spent the night of their betrothal apart, yes?"

Korgik raised his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. "Can't speak from experience, but I'd reckon so."

"Yet Cousland succeeds in making her escape without her absence being noticed until the following morning? Theirin was evidently not with her. So where was he?"

"The Arl was angry to find Theirin in her room that morning. Could be he had greater control over arrangements before the disorder which seems to have followed the battle."

The elf rubbed a hand over his chin. "No. The Landsmeet was the height of their triumph. Theirin essentially crowned and Cousland placed to become his Queen. It is unrealistic that their desires would have been opposed so long as it was kept discreet."

His companion offered a grunt by way of casual agreement.

"If he was not occupied with Grey Warden matters—and he would not have attended those without Cousland—and the nobility had been dismissed to attend to battle preparations, where did Theirin spend the night of their betrothal?"

"Perhaps it was she who wished to be apart."

"Maybe, though I doubt he would have agreed to leave her without good reason," Torih mused. "Besides, _why_ would she send him away from her?" He began to shake his head, eyes narrowing while he focused his mind on piecing together his fragmented knowledge of the events presented to him. "As I said to Argarth, she must have spoken with Riordan immediately after the Landsmeet. That is when they would have discovered the cost of defeating the demon. They would have sought comfort from one another, I imagine. Riordan would have permitted as much."

A scowl darkened Torih's face. Why the man had endorsed this farce was beyond him. He could only attribute it to the fact that the Senior Warden had been close to his Calling. He would not be the first to reflect on the failed elements of his past and try to ensure that ones who remained behind might enjoy what he had lost. A fool's act of misjudged sentimentality. If only the man had intervened, reiterated the oath which both Theirin and Cousland had taken, and asserted that the only option was to permit Cailan's widow to rule then much of this could have been avoided.

Korgik cleared his throat with a hacking cough. "She had to have sent him away. She asserted that she would rule as Queen so her decision to leave can only have come after their assembly. The only significant event would be when Riordan spoke with them."

"So perhaps it was Theirin who sent her away." Torih began to drum his fingers against the table, pursing his lips. "It is true that the fool was besotted. It is not inconceivable that he would make some grand gesture as evidence of his adoration of her." Unbidden, his mouth twisted into a sneer and he gave a vehement shake of his head. "No. No, if he did have knowledge of her departure, why send the Orlesian and Arainai after her the next day? No, he cannot have known that she intended to flee."

"So it does follow that on the night of their betrothal, Cousland chose to send Theirin from her because she had already decided to run away."

"No!" Torih bunched his hand into a fist but resisted slammed it down against the table, not wishing to pique Damon's curiosity so that the man would feel compelled to enquire if all was well. "It does not make sense!"

Korgik leant back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest and studying the elf from behind a closed expression. "It is the only obvious justification."

"It is only obvious because we can find no other explanation," the Commander scowled, temper rising. "I maintain that Cousland fled because she did not believe that death was a certainty. She hoped for success, even if she did not fully anticipate it."

"You cannot prove that."

"I _know_ it," the elf spat, striking at his chest with his fist.

Korgik remained motionless for a few moments before he heaved a large sigh, unfolding his arms so that he could rub at his eyes with the heel of his palms. "What you think you know counts for nugshit, Torih. _But_," he seemed to sense the elf glowering at him, "if your instinct proves to be correct, it suggests that something occurred between the discussion with Riordan and the point at which Cousland decided to flee."

"Something which involved Cousland and Theirin spending the night apart from one another."

"So it would seem."

His temper somewhat placated by Korgik's diplomacy, the elf contented himself with an aggravated groan. "It brings us no closer to understanding _why_. _Why_ did they spend the night apart, _why _did she decide to leave and _why, _once healed, did she suddenly decide that she must take the killing blow?"

With a roll of his shoulders, Korgik indicated that he ridded himself of all responsibility for Cousland and her actions. His part in this conversation was at an end.

Torih rumbled his disapproval at the movement. All the same, he chose not to press the issue. The burdens of maintaining authority and discipline were ones that Korgik had always been determined not to involve himself with.

Pushing the chair back as he rose, Torih picked the empty cup up from where Korgik had discarded it on the table. "My thanks for your assistance, _falon_."

Before Korgik could acknowledge the remark, a frantic shout from some way down the road snared their attention. Both sprang to their feet as Damon bounded to the window and angled his head and shoulder through the empty frame, pausing for a moment as he surveyed the road outside. Swearing beneath his breath, he hauled himself back into the room and headed for the door even as he reported what he had seen.

"Ithyal. He's on his own."

Torih echoed the curse, loudly and with greater spite, before hurrying after Damon. Korgik remained to guard the room but as the Damon and Torih spilled out into the street, the elf caught sight of the dwarf craning his neck out the window in an effort to see for himself what was happening.

"What is it?" Torih demanded with a snarl as the inexperienced lone Warden ran up to them. "Where's the Commander?"

"He's... fine," the young recruit gasped, doubling over and resting his hands against his knees as he struggled to draw breath. "It's... something... else."

"What?"

"A darkspawn corpse... washed up on the river bank..."

Torih puffed out his cheeks, irritation swiftly replacing the relief that came with the confirmation that Argarth was unharmed. "And this warrants such ridiculous panic?"

"It's..." Ithyal straightened to his full height, chest heaving as he heaved in a gulp of air. "It's wearing clothes."

* * *

><p><em>Thanks as ever to <strong>EasternViolet<strong> for her beta talents._


	47. In the Depths of Night

_Spot the Spoiler: there's a minor spoiler for __Early Days__ in this chapter._ _Bonus points if you spot it!_

* * *

><p>As it turned out—Torih swiftly discovered—'clothes' had been somewhat of an exaggeration. Argarth had sent Ithyal to summon Torih in order that the elf might examine the corpse, but the experienced Commander had not intended that the message be conveyed to the other Wardens with such urgency. The darkspawn, a Hurlock from the looks of it, looked to be better equipped than might have been expected and its armour appeared to be fitted in a way that was somewhat remarkable given that such items were scavenged, but for all said and done, it remained unmistakeable as a darkspawn. A darkspawn with evidence of a greater intelligence than might have been expected, but a darkspawn nonetheless.<p>

That, at least, had been the conclusion of the hurried conversation between the two Commanders. Both were mindful of the inexperienced Warden at their side, that Cousland and Gethin were elsewhere with their patrol, and that Korgik was alone in the inn. Even so, Argarth appeared unable to drag his eyes from the creature and his usual brisk manner was replaced with a distracted air.

On his own initiative, Damon stepped forward—retching a little as he neared the putrid corpse—and made to roll it back down the river bank and into the fast flowing water.

"No," Argarth intervened, holding his hand up in signal that Damon stop. "It must be burned, otherwise the taint will continue to contaminate the water."

"Burned?" the Second repeated, breathing through his mouth as he looked between his Commander and the corpse in disbelief. The bloated body oozed with more than simply water and it seemed impossible that flames could be encouraged to scorch the taint from its sodden flesh.

"Return to the village and gather kindling. Fetch a cart or some such if you can. We will require enough to surround the body in order to ensure it may be fit to be placed on a pyre proper tomorrow."

The Second hesitated a moment, looking between his Commander and the corpse in disbelief. So much effort for one corpse, but seeing that Argarth remained steadfast, and was in fact eyeing the man with a growing irritation, Damon resignedly squared his shoulders and bowed his head in acknowledgement of the order.

Argarth relaxed his stance and glanced across to Ithyal. "You will assist him."

"Yes, Commander," the young Warden responded at once, before looking to Damon for further instruction.

Damon grunted something in Orlesian and Ithyal nodded. He fell into step with the other man as the pair retraced their steps towards the abandoned village, the flickering light from the torch which Damon held helping Torih to track their progress in the dank gloom of the night.

The elf waited, his gaze still focused on the torch, expecting Argarth to begin walking back to the village. When the dwarf made no movement, Torih glanced towards his companion with a coked eyebrow, remarking glibly. "Surely Commanders are not expected to guard corpses? Don't we have junior Wardens for that?"

The Orlesian Commander barked a short laugh, but the sound was hollow and in the stark glow of the fire torch, Torih saw the expressionless mask which Argarth had maintained in the presence of Damon and Ithyal slip. With a heavy sigh, the dwarf at last confided in his old comrade. "We have fought many darkspawn, both separately and side by side. Do you recall, in all those creatures, any which were equipped as that one?"

"An oddity, Commander. Nothing more."

"The same could be said of Cousland's survival," the dwarf observed dryly.

The mere mention of her name could sour his mood, and Torih felt his lip curl accordingly. "Do you believe she may have further knowledge of this?"

Argarth lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "We shall discover the answer presently."

"But you suspect it might be so?"

"All I am certain of is that the discrepancies to Cousland's tale are no longer all that is unexplained here, Torih." The dwarf fixed his attention on the two men in the distance. It was not far to the village, but the darkness and lack of defined path was slowing their movement. "I have heard tale of such creatures as this one, but nothing officially."

The elven Commander offered no acknowledgement. He was unwilling to pander to the possibility of truth in the gossip and rumour which could be heard in any stronghold where Grey Wardens gathered. Throughout his time in the Order, he had heard the majority—that there was a last hatch of Griffon eggs which were magically kept in stasis for a time when need was greatest, that there had been a female Warden who had conceived and supposedly been healed of the taint, that the Order was in fact controlled by the Chantry who considered it an extension of their Templar Order. Whenever evidence for such things had been demanded, nothing substantial could be presented.

"Of course, this case does not present exactly as the details in those reports," the dwarf continued, his voice recovering some of his authority. "Perhaps there is no connection."

An ingrained sense of obligation forced Torih to clear his throat. "Connection to what?"

"A creature known as the Architect."

Confident that Argarth was engrossed in staring after the other Wardens, Torih pacified his growing aggravation with a roll of his eyes. It was not a name he was familiar with, but it was no doubt yet another tall tale which had no basis in fact. Torih expected better of the dwarf, truth be told.

Shifting his feet, Argarth mused out loud. "It has been some years since the Architect has reportedly been sighted, of course."

Torih remained obstinately silent. Indulging such fantastical musings was in neither of their interests.

"Rumour has it," Argarth continued casually, a dry chuckle rising from him as he spoke, "that another Theirin was involved with that incident. Like father, like son."

There was an audible crack as the elf snapped his head round to stare down at Argarth. "_What_?"

"I thought that might mend your attitude."

Torih winced. The elf observed the chain of command, took comfort from it, and yet it was difficult for him to square the respect he held for Argarth with the notion that the hardened battle warrior standing at his side believed in flights of fancy borne from boredom and drink. His folly, however; this detail was worthy of some consideration, regardless from where it had originated.

In a docile tone, he asked. "What was reported?"

Argarth treated the elf to a long hard stare which Torih had no trouble in interpreting. The dwarf was well accustomed to the disdain with which Torih greeted much of life, but he had little patience when the elf made the mistake of directing that derision towards him. Considering the extent of the beating which Torih had received at the hands of the dwarf during his first months as a newly initiated recruit, it had been an easy lesson to learn—but one which had blurred somewhat over the years.

The elf lowered his head, staring down at his boots, as he made to appease the Commander. It was apparently sufficient, as Argarth gave a snort and continued with what he had to say.

"Written reports are few and far between, and I believe even those contain little about what truly occurred. Although it has been some time since I have acquainted myself with the accounts, I do remember that the presence of Maric was alluded to."

Frowning, Torih shot a sideways glance towards the dwarf. "Alluded?"

Argarth must have sensed that the elf only wished to query the detail, as opposed to dismissing it outright, because he nodded peaceably. "There may have been a time where it was widely acknowledged but I have yet to uncover such documents. However, given his decision to grant the Order permission to travel through these lands, it was an easy conclusion to reach. Why he became involved and to what extent, I am uncertain."

"It seems that there is much the Order does not know about."

"Certainly more than I had realised," the dwarven Commander conceded, catching the underlying meaning in Torih's words. "But we can only expect to understand that which we encounter."

"Yet it would appear that we cannot even understand that." His mouth twisted as the elf tasted the bitterness in the admission. "Cousland, the Archdemon, and now this. It belies all we know as an Order."

"By the Ancestors! One _shemlen_ girl has shaken your entire faith in the Order?" Argarth spoke with thinly veiled contempt.

Mastering his reaction at the jibe, Torih settled for a determined shake of his head. Cousland herself was irrelevant; it was her survival which threatened the Order. If he failed to uncover an explanation for _that_ then the consequences would reverberate throughout every enclave of the Grey Wardens throughout Thedas. He believed—no, _knew_—that Cousland had cheated her fate, that her survival was nothing but some trick or bargain—perhaps some dark magic, but certainly not the concocted excuse involving the healer—but that meant nothing if he could not unearth how. As Korgik observed, what Torih thought he knew amounted to nothing without evidence.

Swallowing, the elf at last trusted to his voice so that he could respond to the accusation from Argarth. "Her existence undermines us all. Her survival belittles what we are and what the Order represents." He paused, searching for the appropriate words—at times like these, he often wished he had the excuse that his language was that of the Elvhenan, but his knowledge of that tongue had long since been discarded.

He knew he did not want to romanticise the Order or the role of a Grey Warden, but to defeat such evil as an Archdemon and simply walk away... No matter the various creation myths surrounding the origins of the darkspawn, the utter devastation the creatures wrought was undeniable. The sacrifice required to end a Blight reflected that—_should_ reflect that.

With a resigned sigh, Torih settled for the rhetorical. "What use are Grey Wardens, if there is no sacrifice required?"

"You make assumptions which only cloud your thinking further, Torih. Whatever else she may claim to be, Cousland is and remains a tainted being. She _is _a Grey Warden. We do not know how she survived, but we can take solace in that this matter is our concern alone. Rest assured, we will not be diminished by those outside of the Order."

"I hope you are correct, Commander."

Argarth gave a grunt, yet Torih sensed that the dwarf did not necessarily believe in his own assertions. It only served to antagonise Torih's agitation.

* * *

><p>The clunk as Alistair turned the key in the lock to his private rooms was close to being the most beautiful sound he could ever remember hearing. With it, the tension across his shoulders eased to be swiftly replaced by bone tiredness. Maker, he could not remember being so exhausted for a long time.<p>

Since he had arrived at the Palace, there had been a seemingly never ending parade of faces and introductions. Eamon had done well, at least as far as Alistair could tell. The kitchens were well stocked and fully staffed, guards seemed to be everywhere, and the household servants appeared efficient despite their small number. In short, he was content with his household—though considering that he had never had a household before, he doubted his opinion counted for very much.

His personal involvement was required in some matters, however. A Seneschal would need to be appointed, for starters. Given recent events, the Arl had evidently not seen it appropriate to overstretch his influence and instead Eamon had occupied himself with coordinating the majority of tasks on his own. That seemed reason enough to ensure that a decision was made within the next few days; it was not appropriate that Eamon should know all that was going on. Andraste save him, Alistair didn't know everything that was going on, why should anyone else?

Tomorrow, though; it could wait until tomorrow... after a _long_ sleep.

Gathering the last of his energy, Alistair turned from the door and crossed the small reception room towards the door which led down a short hallway to his bedroom. The sight of a tattered pack propped against the back of one of the chairs drew his eye and despite his weariness, curiosity got the better of him.

Drawing nearer the pack, he recognised the strip of blue ribbon which Elissa had tied to one of the straps a few months ago. A gift from a merchant in Orzammar, if he remembered rightly. He did remember that Leliana had been involved, because her squeal of delight at the trinkets in front of her had sent a shudder through each of the companions. For someone who had chosen to gift the majority of her earthly belongings to the Chantry, Leliana was strangely obsessed with acquiring new possessions.

Pulling the ribbon through his fingers, the silk snagging against the rough calluses on his fingers, Alistair mused on how the pack had come to be delivered to his private rooms. He had noted that Riordan's swords had been transferred from his bedroom in the Guerrin estate to the study here in the Palace, although Wynne's staff had been mysteriously mislaid. No doubt Eamon had felt uneasy that the King of Ferelden should own a staff belonging to a Senior Enchanter of the Circle, especially given that said King had once been associated with a Witch of the Wilds. If he had more foresight, Alistair might have hidden it away. As it was, it was likely gone for good.

Exhaling through his nose, he smothered the flicker of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Recovering the staff had been how Sten had honoured Wynne, but Alistair would find his own way. Still, he regretted its loss.

He opened the pack and recoiled from the sight of the shrivelled tendril which rested near the top. Elfroot; or it had been. Elissa was forever plucking the herb from the ground, promising to make use of it and then a few days later, he would be looking through her pack, usually for a health potion, and his hand would brush against the plant, brown and withering. He would often sneak the herb out and take it to Wynne so that the mage could make proper use of it. He had a suspicion that if it had not been for his stealthy interference, the Dalish envoys would have often been left empty handed whenever the elven hunters reconvened with the small band of companions.

Steeling himself, he tugged at the vine and the blackened leaves crumbled at the slight touch, scattering fragments everywhere. He discarded it on the small side table.

With the elfroot removed, he spied a few scattered stones caught in the folds of the leather. He reached in and pried one of the stones out, the smooth surface informing him what it was even before he turned it over in his palm. As he ran his forefinger across the rune etched into the surface, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the rune stone immediately brought Sandal to mind. Maker, he hoped that the young dwarf and his father had succeeded in escaping. Bodahn had mentioned plans to leave Ferelden following the Landsmeet but he had not confided how or where. In the aftermath of Riordan's revelation and Elissa's departure, Alistair had forgotten about the two dwarves. His conscience twinged, yet he consoled himself with the knowledge that there was no one more resourceful than Bodahn. Wherever he and his son were, Alistair felt confident that they were thriving. He offered up a wish and a prayer that both were safe and well.

He set the stone down beside the elfroot and peered again into the pack, sighing as he did so. Such an odd collection. At the bottom of the pack, there were two crumpled pieces of vellum and a bundled rag which he imagined had once been an undershirt, although it was entirely possible that Elissa had simply seen it and decided it would be a good thing to have 'just in case'.

In spite of himself, Alistair began to laugh beneath his breath.

"You seem in good spirits, my friend. It is a welcome sight."

Starting at the unexpected sound, Alistair spun round, dropping the pack as he did so.

Zevran stood in the doorway to the bedroom, casually wiping his hands on a dampened cloth. The housemaids must have arranged to have water, soap and the likes brought to the room in anticipation of any requests. His gaze flickered between Alistair and the now discarded pack which lay on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" the man deflected the observation with an exaggerated indignation, heat building in his cheeks at having been caught reminiscing.

"I had thought you might wish to take possession of that which Elissa was required to leave behind."

The elf seemed entirely unperturbed. It was only when Zevran threw the cloth over the dead elfroot that Alistair noticed the dark smudges staining the fabric. There were only a select few ways through which the elf could have garnered so much grime, to the extent that some it lingered on his skin even after washing. Zevran, for some untold reason, had seen fit to gain entrance by less than conventional means.

One thing at a time though; Alistair had a feeling that his friend's explanation would require a conversation all of its own, and he was bemused to discover that Elissa had left anything behind that he had not known about.

"I didn't know Elissa had left these things."

"Nor did I. It was only because she instructed me to fetch her coin bag to provide equipment for the templars that I knew of it." Zevran eyed the man with a knowing look, softening his tone as he continued in anticipation of the man's next remark. "I have touched only that which I had permission to take, my friend."

Alistair forced himself to take a measured breath, before flashing a rueful grin at the elf. It was fortunate that Zevran had become accustomed to his bursts of jealousy, and could manage them reasonably well. There would have been a lot more bluster and bravado otherwise, and really there had always been too much to be done to waste time with such things.

"Thank you." He stooped down and rescued the pack from the floor, setting it on the side table before turning his back on the pack, content to wait until he was alone to continue looking through the rest of the contents. Squaring his shoulders in an effort to brace himself, Alistair fixed a hard look on his friend. "But I doubt you snuck in here just to give me a pack, Zev. So, I'll ask again: what are you doing here?"

The assassin gave a short laugh. "I am that obvious, hm? Very well; yes, there are some matters I wish to discuss with you."

Settling himself down on the settee at the side of the room, Alistair gestured that the elf should also make himself comfortable. Zevran waved away the offer of a seat, preferring to warm himself in front of the last glowing embers of the dying fire.

He first enquired how much Alistair knew of what had happened in the city that day. Alistair summarised the reports which Eamon had presented with him over the evening meal. It had made for a very dry meal, but it had prevented any awkward silence between the two men. Zevran confirmed the majority of the details, his knowledge gleaned from the gossip in the streets and taverns. He also remarked that he had personally witnessed the departure of Leliana and Oghren, in the company of the templars and mages, and that the Dalish had also left.

Alistair closed his eyes in a grimace. That, he had not been told. It was unsurprising that the movements of the Dalish had escaped the attention of the various messengers, but he had hoped to speak with Keeper Lanaya at least once more before she decided to leave.

With a shake of his head, Zevran reassured him that the Keeper did not seem offended and that she had expressed the hope that the friendship between Crown and Dalish would flourish. When Alistair pressed about the attendance of the Dalish at the coronation, Zevran could only shrug and suggested that Lanaya would likely send a delegate to test the waters.

Then, at last, Zevran acknowledged the real reason for his unorthodox visit.

"I had meant to speak with you before you left the Arl's estate, but I had other matters to attend to." Turning his back on the man, Zevran held his hands out over the embers, flexing his fingers as he did so and Alistair noticed fresh grazes across the elf's knuckles. "I do not believe it is prudent that you continue to publically associate with me."

Alistair remained silent, reading between the lines. He should have expected that the elf would wish to leave, but for some reason it had not entered into his head. Then again, he hadn't exactly been paying close attention to what was going on outside the walls of the Guerrin estate over the last few days.

"Where are you going?" he asked at last.

Zevran twisted round, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. "I will remain here."

"But you just..."

Holding up a hand, the elf interrupted the man. "You misunderstand me, my friend. You will note I said _publically_. I have no intention of leaving Denerim for the moment." He paused and then let out an easy laugh. "Unless you wish to inform me otherwise, my King?"

Alistair cocked his head to one side, as though considering the options available, before heaving a sigh. "Oh, I suppose not." He grinned at the elf, before another thought struck him and caused his amusement to fade. "What do you plan to... Actually, you know what? Don't tell me. I don't want to know about something that I might feel obligated to interfere with."

"A wise decision," the elf observed, a mischievous glint in his eye. "But to the matter at hand, you must surely agree that an Antivan, a disgraced Crow—disgraced, I might add, because I failed to kill both the Hero and future King of Ferelden—and an elf do not make me a suitable ally within a royal court?"

"Zev," Alistair rubbed his hands over his face, suddenly feeling the world pressing down a little harder on his shoulders. "That's all well and good, but I need friends. I need people who knew me before. Who _liked_ me before."

"I remain loyal to you, Alistair—and Elissa. We will meet and talk, and whatever assistance you might need of me I will freely give. But I will not be present within your court. As far as anyone will know, our association has come to a timely end." Zevran waved a casual hand about the room. "Do not fear. When your guards are capable of preventing _me_ from accessing the Palace when-so-ever I choose, then I will consider my time within Ferelden to be at an end."

Alistair arched an eyebrow. He was pretty sure that an assassin claiming such ease of access into his most private rooms was something he should be concerned about, but in this instance, he chose to overlook it. Instead, he turned his attention to stifling the yawn which crept over him.

Badly, as it turned out. On spying the clumsy movement, Zevran suddenly bowed low and made his excuses. Dismissing Alistair's half-hearted protest with a roll of his eyes, the elf promised that he would visit again within a day or so and retreated to the door.

"Not out the window, Zev?"

The assassin laughed a little too freely, the previous glint sharpening into almost a leer. "Only when it concerns business, my friend. Sleep well."

"Uh..."

Before Alistair could summon a more coherent response, the elf had already slipped from the room.

Easing himself from the settee, Alistair moved across the room and turned the key in the lock once more. He made to turn away from the door, but there was something about the way Zevran had seemed too easily amused by his remark which set his nerves on edge, and he reached out to test whether the handle moved as a last check. It resisted against the pressure when he pushed down on it, reassuring him that the door was in fact secure. Although if Zevran had been telling the truth, it wasn't through the door that the assassin would make his assault—not that Alistair feared an attempt on his life from the elf, but Zevran did like to emphasise his lessons. The last thing Alistair wanted to wake up to was the grinning face of the Antivan looming over him.

_That_ image prompted another slight laugh from the man. Shaking his head in the hopes of ridding the thought from his head, Alistair returned to the pack lying on the chair. He swept the scattered remains of the elfroot into his hand with the ruined cloth and threw both onto the embers which temporary flared up. Pulling the pack open further, he rifled through the remainder of the contents and grasped at the rag. As his fingers brushed against the material, however, he discovered that something had been wrapped within its folds. Drawing the little bundle out, he discarded the pack to the side and unravelled the cloth from around its prize.

The rose which Varathorn had carved from ironbark. He studied it in disbelief for a few moments. It had been some time since he had seen it. In all honesty, he had thought Elissa had burned it sometime shortly after Redcliffe. Turning it over in his hands, he squinted a little and brought the carving closer to his face. There were blackened patches here and there; she had thrown it in the fire then, and regretted it almost at once. At least he presumed so otherwise the thing would have been a pile of cinders rather than simply charred. Perhaps it had been a good thing that the Mabari had destroyed the original rose he had picked in Lothering—that certainly wouldn't have survived her scorching temper, never mind the flames of the camp fire.

Alistair ran a thumb over one of the marks, trying to get a feel of the extent of the damage. Perhaps there was the possibility of the scorch marks being polished out somehow. He might have asked Lanaya if one of her Dalish craftsmen could repair the damage, but as the clan had already left then maybe one of the elven carpenters in the Alienage would have some knowledge of how to treat ironbark.

Except a visit to the Alienage would probably raise a few hackles along with a lot of eyebrows. He would need more of a legitimate reason to visit the Alienage than the simple request that a carving be repaired. Then again, the city elves had provided assistance during the battle of Denerim—a visit to express his gratitude, like he had already done with both the Dalish and dwarves, would not be so unexpected. Or would it? Alistair grimaced, rubbing at his eyes. He had never given stepping into the Alienage a second thought when he was a Warden—at least not how his presence within the boundaries might reflect on _him_.

Another task to defer until tomorrow. He would think of some reason or explanation though, of that he could be confident.

He set the rose down on the side table, ensuring it was in full view so that he would not forget about it in the morning. Fastening the pack closed, he looked about the room for somewhere to store it. His eye alighted on a small chest beneath the window and he secreted the pack inside, before finally taking himself to bed.

* * *

><p>Holding her lighted torch aloft, Elissa tread through the debris littering one of the back streets of the desolate village. It was clear that the buildings which lined the West Road were abandoned, but she had a tentative hope that those villagers less able to flee might have sought refuge in the houses which were not immediately visible from the road. So far, it had been a fool's hope.<p>

She hadn't expected that Torih would agree to her request to explore the remainder of the village, and she had been both grateful and suspicious when he had. His insistence that she be accompanied was hardly surprising and yet Gethin was hardly a dominant force—she would have expected Damon to be assigned as her escort, if not Torih himself. Gethin was, however, the one Grey Warden from whom she was yet to wrangle more than a grunt, and it seemed that Torih believed himself to have other matters to attend to other than monitoring her every move.

That was also surprising considering the way in which the two Commanders had conferred with one another shortly after Torih had interrupted the discussion between Ithyal and herself. The low tones the elf and dwarf had used had prevented her from overhearing the details of the conversation, but it had clearly given Torih pause for thought. Any suggestion that it was only her ego which prompted her to assert that she had been the topic of discussion had been quashed by the sidelong glances, accompanied with a variety of frowns and scowls, which Torih had directed towards her throughout the afternoon.

Something was afoot. She had gone wrong somewhere, she could sense it. Something she had said had piqued the elf's attention. Try as she might, however, she could not think what it could be. In her conversation with Ithyal, she had remained consistent to the core details of events. So long as she remained as consistent as possible with the base facts, she was less likely to reveal that which was best kept secret. Even so, it appeared that her method was not infallible.

A glint caught out of the corner of her eye roused Elissa from her thoughts. A last remaining shard of glass in an otherwise broken window pane reflected the light from her torch. Drawing nearer the window, she peered through but her torch barely penetrated the murkiness in the room.

Stepping away from the window, Elissa moved to the door and twisted at the round metal handle. It turned easily and she pushed against the door. It opened an inch or so before hitting against something. Removing her hand, she set her shoulder against the door and attempted to push whatever was blocking it out of the way. With a grating sound, the door gave another inch before stopping dead again.

Clicking her tongue in irritation, she set the torch in the outer sconce beside the door. She chose not to ponder why a back street building might need a sconce bolted onto the outer wall to advertise its location and instead, Elissa glanced round at Gethin with a clear gesture that he was to join her.

"Help me."

He stared past her, mouth pinched.

Assuming something had caught his attention, Elissa whirled round but the street behind them lay deserted.

She looked back to him. "Gethin. Come help me."

A scowl began to darken his expression and his eyes snapped to meets hers. "_I _don't answer to you."

Instinct drove her response. She tensed, drawing herself up before taking an intimidating step towards the man. For his part, Gethin mirrored her stance but went one move further and tightened his hand around the hilt of his sword.

It was that slight movement which in fact led to defusing the situation. Catching herself reaching for her own blades, Elissa experienced a moment of clarity in which the ridiculousness of them brawling with one another was laid out in full in her mind. They were reasonably well-matched; it would take a considerable amount of energy and effort to best the other if they were to actually come to blows. However, she very much doubted that Gethin would play fair—she certainly had no intention of doing so—and without a third party to serve as adjudicator, she could believe that the altercation between them would not end well.

For the briefest of moments, she considered charming him in a way similar to how she had won over her Blight companions. As quick as the thought came however, she rejected it. She had no desire to know any humanising detail of this man whose company she was forced to endure, and she had no intention of ever revealing any of her own secrets to him.

Stopping in her tracks, Elissa contented herself with levelling a cold glare at the dissenting Warden. There had been a time, not so long ago, where she would not have tolerated any question of her authority, but that had been with people she respected and to whom she wished to prove herself; Gethin was neither.

Still, his behaviour warranted some reaction.

"Do what you want," she shrugged. Apathy was as good a reaction as any for someone so inconsequential as this man.

Abandoning him to his one man mutiny, though she remained wary of any unscrupulous movement from her fellow Warden, Elissa turned back to the building and ran her eye over the frontage in search of another way in. Short of knocking through the remnants of the broken glass in the window, or clambering up onto the roof, she could see no clear and easy way of doing so.

Suppressing a sigh, she stepped back up to the window and called through, straining to hear any response no matter how faint. She called a few more times, concerned that her shouts might be considered a trap by any frightened people inside, but eventually she conceded defeat and took up her torch from the sconce. Without even a backward glance in the direction of her unwilling escort, she continued on her patrol.

* * *

><p>The first night on the road was always the worst, Leliana had often found. The beginnings of any journey often prompted an apprehensive excitement within her, the thought of what might lie ahead becoming a tantalising terror, and the Bard was not surprised to find that she was unable to give herself up the Fade.<p>

Throughout the day, the muddied thoroughfare had caused her a significant amount of jostling as she sat in the cart. It had been uncomfortable at first, but it did not cause her any extensive pain even though Liahn had been insistent on checking on her patient every few minutes. The air between Bard and mage remained strained given the terse discussions which had passed between them in Denerim, and the constant mollycoddling had only served to add to the tension.

Towards evening however, an hour or so before the Knight-Captain had called a halt, the ground had gradually become firmer. Hopefully it would continue to do so tomorrow and their progress towards Kinloch Hold would both become swifter and smoother. With no obvious cause for concern, Liahn had appeared to relax somewhat and her fussing eased into the usual restrained diligence with which she had always addressed her duty as a healer.

On reflection, Leliana concluded that the initial attitude of the templars might have added to the mage's consternation. At first, the templars had groused beneath their breath to one another at the extra burden of the hand cart and its passenger, but when they had stopping for the midday meal the additional supplies which had been packed onto the cart had been unearthed. Leliana recognised Zevran's influence in the goods—he had seen to his task of sourcing equipment and supplies with his usual eye for detail and ensured that there was sufficient reward for the required exertion from the templars. There had been no further complaints since then.

Now though, there were none of the distractions which had occupied her attention as the small group travelled along the road. Surrounded by the slumbering mages and off-duty templars, with Oghren banished some distance away as a result of his snoring—something she had become blissfully oblivious to over the months—Leliana found the means of occupying her mind somewhat limited.

Shifting a little on her bedroll, the Bard raised her eyes to the night sky. The Maker had a sense of humour, she was certain of it, for the only visible cluster of stars in an otherwise overcast sky was that of Alindra and her soldier.

Nevertheless, she began to recount the story in her head, feeling her body begin to relax and her mind drift as she indulged in the romanticism of the story.

"Halt!"

The order was called in a low voice but it was sufficient to jar her from her thoughts, and Leliana struggled up onto her elbows, craning her neck to see what had caught the attention of the two templars who had been assigned night watch. Surely one of the mages had not attempted to escape in so barefaced a manner?

No. The voices came again, still low but unhurried, as though the guards were satisfied that there was no threat. As an exchange flowed back and forth in hushed tones, Leliana surmised that it was another traveller. The conversation came to an end, and she heard the thud of footsteps nearing her as the stranger continued on past the templars and along the road. The Bard peered into the dimness of the night, the thought of sating her curiosity helping her to disregard the stabs of pain from the odd angle at which she sat.

A man—a time-served soldier from the looks of his armour—turned his head a fraction as he passed by, casting a glance over the small group. His gaze fell on Leliana and even though it was too dim to know if she had caught his eye, the man inclined his head towards her in polite acknowledgement before returning his eyes to the road, picking his way by the dim light of the few stars. There was a faint silhouette of a shield which he wore a shield on his back and as he trudged past, Leliana squinted in the vain hope of making out some worn heraldry embossed on the metal.

"Sister, are you unwell?"

Never taking her eyes from the stranger, she shook her head in response to the question from the concerned templar. "No, no, I am fine."

She had only made out that he was dark-haired with a beard, but even so the traveller seemed familiar to her in a way she could not understand.

"A soldier. Supposedly fought at Ostagar," the templar had followed the turn of her head and correctly assumed that the stranger had snared her attention. "So he says, anyhow. Certainly looks like he's seen some sights in his time, Maker help him."

Ostagar. She had not known anyone who had fought at Ostagar, save Elissa and Alistair. Over the course of their travels, they had met a great many different people; perhaps he was simply one of those nameless faces that had passed through her life without her fully acknowledging him. Still, he had struck her as being more familiar than that, that she had _known_ him—or at least, someone like him.

"Thank you, Ser," she murmured. "And I appreciate your concern for me."

"You are welcome, Sister." The words floated through the air as the templar withdrew to resume his guard duties.

Leliana lay back on her bed roll and stared once more at Alindra's star. Her soldier had never returned from the wars, and she wondered if the soldier who had just passed had someone waiting to hear news of his survival. She hoped it was so; there were too many who did not.

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><p><em>Thanks to <em>_**EasternViolet**__ for her keen beta eye._


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